The Way Forward
by Melissa Alexander
Summary: After The Big Spot tragedy, Daryl is surprised when Beth asks him to take her back to the farm for a precious family heirloom. Hesitantly he agrees, and when a heated exchange results in a passionate tryst, Daryl is forced to come to terms with his growing attraction to Beth. Can they move forward past the mistake they made? Or would that be their biggest mistake of all? Bethyl AU
1. Chapter 1

**The Way Forward**

 _ **He was tired of losing people, that's what he told her. After the tragic events at The Big Spot, and an innocent hug, Daryl is more than a little surprised when Beth seeks him out to secretly take her back to the Greene family farm for a precious family heirloom. Bound by a sense of duty, he hesitantly agrees, and when a heated exchange results in an unexpected passionate tryst, Daryl is forced to come to terms with this shifting friendship and the growing attraction he has to Beth Greene. Can they move forward past the mistake they made while isolated and emotionally vulnerable? Or would that be their biggest mistake of all? Bethyl Prison AU -takes place after the season 4 premier. Rated for eventual sexual situations and some language.**_

 **Chapter 1 - 7 Days Without an Incident**

 _I don't cry anymore Daryl._

That's what she had said. It had been a week since he gone to Beth's cell to deliver the news that Zach hadn't made it. _Seven days_ , and yet he still kept coming back to it, replaying it over and over in his mind, looping like a damn broken record. Wishin' there was something he coulda done differently ...just wishin' things were different.

Sure, he had _known_ Zach ... _hell_ , Daryl would even go so far as saying he had _liked_ the kid, and he was saddened that they had lost another person - but Beth, she had cared for him on a deeper level. Maybe even loved the guy ... and yet, in a completely unselfish gesture, she had decided it was more important to comfort him, instead. _Why?_ And that's what was still eatin' him up a week later ... _that damn hug_.

There was a vulnerability about Beth Greene and that hug. A quiet, unspoken softness that made Daryl feel comfortable enough for just a split second, to slip out from behind his mental armor. And in that moment of weakness, he had told her _exactly_ how he felt. He was _not_ okay. Not even a little. He was tired of losing people.

 _He was tired._

He let them down. Zach and Beth, and Zach had paid the ultimate price. Couldn't even put the poor kid outta his misery or stop him from becoming one of _them_.

Daryl gripped the handlebars of his bike tightly, trying to let the vibrations soothe him as they usually did when he rode. The times when he felt like he and his bike became one and the same, when the wind whipped at his hair and the scenery slipped by in a blur and he felt truly free. That was the feeling he craved, but today, that feeling eluded him.

As he sped by the sign warning that **"hitchhiker's may be prisoners"** , his destination of home drawing closer with every mile marker, Daryl fought the urge to turn around and head back the way he'd came. Where he planned to go, he had no idea, but he was anxious lately and feeling very boxed in. Maybe taking a position on the council had been a bad idea? Maybe if he hadn't made the decision for Zach to tag along and help on the Big Spot run, then maybe he would still be alive? Maybe it was time for him to step down?

 _Maybe._

A little word with a lot of weight.

As he pulled up in front of the prison gates, revving his engine, Carol rushed to open them for him, and Daryl gunned his bike forward quickly, as a Walker staggered towards him. It stumbled, greedy hands outstretched for him, and fell headfirst onto one of the wooden spikes jutting out of the ground. One of Rick's brilliant ideas. Rick always knew what to do. It was Rick who belonged on the Council, not him.

But Rick had no interest in being a leader anymore. He spent most of his time tending to the garden and livestock they had finally gotten going. Rick was a fast learner and with Hershel's instruction, they were finally starting to see the fruits of their labor. In a few more months, they would probably no longer have to leave the prison for food at all - _and then they'd need him a little less_.

Slowly guiding his bike up the path and closer to the cell block fence, Daryl cut the engine and with practiced accuracy, kicked the kickstand down while climbing off, all in one fluid motion. Jerking the handkerchief down off of his face, he reached into the pocket of his tattered flannel shirt and tugged out his cigarettes, flipping the box open and stuffing one in his mouth, he dug into his pants pocket and fished out his Zippo lighter. Making a mental note to get more lighter fluid the next time he went out on a run, Daryl lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"Bring anything good back?" Carol asked, coming to stand beside him.

"You're lookin' at it," Daryl replied, waving the pack of cigarettes at her before dropping them back in his breast pocket. Patting his hand on the other pack that rested beneath it.

"Anything else?" She asked, with a disapproving scowl.

"Nope," Daryl replied, taking another drag of his cigarette. He was used to her matronly hovering, something he let slip because that's what Carol did when it came to him -she nurtured, she mothered. She was also probably the closest friend he'd _ever_ had, aside from Rick and Glenn.

"C'mon Pookie, those things will kill you," she elbowed him playfully.

"Stop," Daryl grunted, elbowing her back. She knew he hated it when she called him that, and Carol was one of the few people he took shit from. "Anythin' happen while I was gone?"

"Michonne left, and then came back," Carol folded her arms over her chest and laughed. "I think maybe she took your suggestion to heart. Maybe she's decided to give up searching for the Governor, put down some roots here? She's seemed to have grown a soft spot for Carl."

"Good," Daryl nodded, taking another drag of his smoke and flicking the ashes off into the grass. "Assholes dead, anyway." At least he hoped, but he kept that part to himself.

Carol sighed, uncrossing her arms and took a few steps towards the cell block doors, "Well, it's almost story time. I'm gonna head down to the library and get things ready."

"Have fun," Daryl called after her, as she waved from behind the fence and disappeared behind the heavy doors.

Giving the prison yard a quick once over, and with everything appearing to be in order, Daryl dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot, and then turned to head through the doors Carol had disappeared behind. Making a quick right and passing the lower level cells, he stomped up the stairs and all the way down the hallway to his own cell. It was a hell of a walk when he was tired, but he liked the solitude, liked the privacy it afforded him. After all, privacy was hard to come by in such close quarters.

Lifting the sheet that served doubly as a wall and a door, Daryl stepped inside, pulling the strap of his crossbow up over his shoulders and propping it against the wall, he gazed around his cell at his meager belongings. A desk scattered with match books and a couple of tools, a small figurine of a dragon he'd thought was cool and had grabbed on a run, and a rusty old tuna can that served as an ashtray on the occasion that he didn't feel like going outside to smoke at night. _Home sweet home_.

Daryl snorted, shrugging out of his leather vest and draping it over the back of his rickety chair that wobbled when he sat on it. Sadly, his pitiful little cell was probably the closest thing Daryl ever had to resembling a home in his thirty something years. At least, not since he was a kid, and he sure as fuck wasn't gonna go traipsing through those memories. It wasn't much, but this was _his_ , and he didn't need much, anyway. All that really mattered to him were his bike, his wings and his bow - two of which he carried on his person at all times.

Of the countless runs he went on, it was the others he brought things back for. A comic book for Carl, a stuffed animal for Lil' Asskicker, a pretty scarf for Carol ... It was in doing things like that, that made him feel he had a purpose.

Dropping down on his cot, Daryl pillowed his head on his arm and stared up at the cracked ceiling, debating if he should try to take a brief nap before they rung the dinner bell, and quickly decided against it. His stomach growled at the thought of food, reminding Daryl of his neglectful eating habits of late. Tonight would be a treat, too. Venison, from the deer he had killed and dressed this morning, when he sought respite in the surrounding woods. Lately, it seemed as though he couldn't find enough reasons to stay within the safe perimeter of the prison. _Seven days to be exact_. Maybe he'd go hunting again tomorrow morning before the Council meeting. It wasn't like they couldn't use the food with all the new mouths they had to feed, taking in all those Woodbury refugees - because it was the _right_ thing to do.

Daryl was unsure how long he laid there, staring up at the ceiling, but the sound of laughter echoing through the cell block broke him out of his trance. With a heavy sigh, he rolled himself up off of his cot and shrugged back into his vest. Ducking back under his thin cotton sheet doorway, Daryl made the long walk down the cell block, back down the stairs and while passing by the lower level cells, couldn't stop himself from glancing in Beth's cell on his way by.

She wasn't inside. He knew she wouldn't be. More than likely she was outside, taking Judith for her usual evening stroll along the grounds before dinner. Rick swore the fresh air before eating knocked Lil' Asskicker down for the count when it came to bedtime. Maybe it was a habit he needed to pick up. Maybe he could actually sleep then. _Maybe_.

As it was, Daryl couldn't remember the last time he'd slept straight through the night. Not even before the turn, when he was usually out carousing with Merle. Bar hopping and partying, or whatever the hell it was that Merle wanted to do that night. It was different then, though. Usually he was too drunk or stoned to put an intelligent thought together. That was no longer the case. Now he had nothing but time to think, and his thoughts of late had been very unsettling. And if he was lucky, and sleep got its claws in him ...well, then it was the dreams he had to contend with.

"Hey fleabag!" Michonne called, startling Daryl from his thoughts, as she fell into stride beside him.

"What do you want?" Daryl mumbled at her, feigning annoyance, but unable to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Since when do I need a reason to bother your ugly ass?" Michonne said flashing her teeth at him with one of her dazzling smiles.

"Since never, obviously" Daryl snorted, doing his best to sound sullen. Truth was, he liked Michonne. She was easy to be around - not pushing idle chit chat. _Usually_.

"C'mon emo kid, cheer up," Michonne nudged him playfully with her elbow. "We all feel terrible about Zach-"

"It ain't even that," Daryl interrupted her. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was just _one_ of _many_ things rolling around in his head.

"Then what is it?" She asked, her large brown eyes turning serious. "Is it him? The Gov-"

"Don't even say his name," Daryl growled. "An' no. Just got a lot'a shit on my mind. So you plannin' on stickin' 'round for awhile?" He asked, cleverly shifting the topic.

"For awhile," Michonne nodded with a shrug as they rounded the corner of the cafeteria, which they'd cleaned out and started making use of recently.

With a light pat on his shoulder, she parted ways, moving to take up the empty seat beside Carl, nudging him with her elbow before he broke into an animated conversation about the current comic book he was reading. Daryl continued past them, taking up a chair in the far corner by the high barred windows where he always sat. Alone usually, and away from the crowd. From this spot, he had views of every exit and entrance and could be sure no one would sneak up on him, trapping him in a conversation he wasn't interested in having. Mostly, he just liked to observe everyone.

Slowly the people began to filter in and fill up the cafeteria. The Woodbury people were usually the first ones here. They ate quickly and then disappeared even quicker. The noise level rose to a hum, as more people took seats, chatting amongst themselves about whatever post apocalyptic gossip was worth waggin' their pie holes about. The kitchens double door swung open as Carol and a handful of Woodbury people came bearing large pots of whatever would serve as side dishes to his deer meat. A variety of vegetables, mostly out of cans they'd scavenged, and rice. _It was always rice_. They never seemed to run out of the shit.

Daryl sighed, slumping over in his chair and waited, like he always did, for everyone to go up and take their fill before serving himself. Something Carol chastised him for often. He always shrugged her off, saying that he just wanted all the 'guests' to have full bellies first, but truthfully he just hated all the attention he got from the Woodbury people. He knew they were just being kind, mostly just thanking' him for providing food and grabbing the things they needed when he went out on runs, but it always made him feel terribly uncomfortable. And one of them in particular, especially.

 _Lenore_. Rumor had it she was sweet on him. Daryl had a feeling she was as sweet on him as she was sweet on just about anyone else. She was what Merle would call a "lot lizard" in their rambling days. The type of gal you took home with you at the end of the night if no one else was around ... if you took her home at all, and not just to the backseat of your car, or one of the bar's bathroom stalls.

It wasn't that she was unattractive. She was pretty enough with sleek raven hair and a plethora of tattoos covering her long lean body. Her body that she proudly put on display for all the men at the prison who had eyes enough to look. Daryl just wasn't interested in _that_. Never much had been, unless it was some drunken girl Merle was pushing on him, and he had to save face and not be a _pussy_.

Shaking his head to dislodge his thoughts, Daryl scanned the room, noting that Rick had joined his boy and Michonne, Lil' Ass Kicker on his lap, sucking away on the pacifier he'd brought back a few days ago, along with a colorful array of teething rings. He found it odd that she wasn't in Beth's arms like usual, then wondered why he cared enough to notice.

"You're the reason we're eatin' deer tonight," a familiar voice said from behind as a steaming hot plate was placed down in front of him. "You shouldn't be the last one enjoyin' it," Beth said earnestly. She threw a "thank you" over her shoulder as she walked towards Rick's table and laid the other plate she held in front of her father before jumping back in the food line.

Daryl wasted no time digging in to the delicious smelling venison, his hunger returning with a vengeance. In a matter of minutes he had cleared his plate ...even eating the rice he found so distasteful, and surprised to find that he had room for seconds. Carol was a damn good cook, and she was becoming very creative in the kitchen, making good use of the spices the Woodbury people had brought back with them.

Bringing his hands to his mouth, Daryl licked his fingers clean, not giving a shit about who was watching his poor table manners. He leaned forward and yanked his handkerchief out of the back pocket of his pants, and dragged it across his face before wiping the residual saliva from his fingers. Now all he had to do was wait until the cafeteria started emptying out, so he could slip away quietly.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" Glenn's voice struggled to carry over the chattering of a few dozen people. A sharp pounding of the handle of a butter knife on the table brought the noise level down as Glenn cleared his throat and tried again. "Everyone quiet please! I have a _really_ important announcement to make!"

As the room drew silent, all eyes focused on Glenn as he stood, holding a bottle of sparkling cider in each hand. "Well, it's not champagne," he said with a shrug and the tilt of his head, cracking a half smile. "But we have cause for celebration tonight. You all know my beautiful wife, Maggie," Glenn nodded his head in her direction, love and adoration shining in his eyes, as she blushed and smiled back up at him. "Well, if you all notice that she's been eating a little more lately, be kind," he paused to chuckle at his own inside joke before continuing, "because she's eating for two!"

The room erupted in cheers and applause, some people wandering over to slap Glenn and Hershel on the back, and congratulate Maggie who nodded politely, her cheeks rosy with happiness. Maybe pregnant women really did glow, Daryl mused as he watched, unable to keep from smiling, just a little, at the happy news. The Polaroid camera Glenn had grabbed previously at the Big Spot _before the incident_ , suddenly made complete sense now.

Daryl assumed a proud father _would_ want to catalog the memories of all their child's firsts, capture all those moments in time - unfortunately he didn't know that firsthand. His dad had never been proud of his offspring. Had never been interested in any of their firsts, neither.

Using everyone's excitement to his advantage, Daryl slipped out quickly and quietly, only feeling a slight twinge of guilt for leaving his dirty dishes behind on the table, and not offering his congratulations to the expecting couple. He'd apologize to them all later, right now he just needed to break away from the noise of the crowd, and Lenore's hungry eyes - before they found him.

Daryl took the stairs two at a time, rushing back to his room before anyone could notice he was missing, and dipped behind his faded floral sheet door. They'd talked before, him and Rick, about looting a lumber yard and bringing back some plywood to remedy the lack of privacy they all had. They just hadn't worked their way down to it yet, on the list of priorities that was always piling up faster than they could scratch things off.

Daryl sat down on his rickety chair, blowing out an aggravated breath when it rocked backwards. Another thing he kept intending to remedy, just didn't seem to care much until it was in his face again, reminding him. Maybe he'd get to it tomorrow, but right now he was itching to get back outside of the prison. He knew he could if he wanted to - hop on his bike and take off into the night, and no one would stop him. He felt better out there fighting and killing tangible monsters, rather than the ones he was constantly battling in his head.

Reaching for the block of bench stone on his desk, Daryl eased his knife out of its sheath at his waist and began sharpening it to kill time, listening for the tell-tale sounds that the prison was winding down for the night, now that it was becoming dark outside. As the light began seeping from the room, he reached down into his boot for his other knife, inspecting the blade as best he could without having to turn on his lantern, preferring if anyone who happened to pass by, thought he'd turned in early and kept on walking.

The blade still seemed pretty sharp, and he hadn't really used it anyway, so with a shrug, he tucked the ivory hilt back into his boot and stood. The prison was taking a bit longer to settle tonight, and with nothing else to do but stare into the darkness, Daryl quietly inched out of his cell, his feet barely making a sound as he made his way out of the block.

Once he'd made it to the corridor outside the cell blocks, Daryl rushed through the heavy door, pulling it quietly closed behind him, itching for the cool night air and the opportunity to be completely alone and shake that boxed in feeling that had been nipping at his heels all damn day. He'd already memorized every crack in his ceiling and if he had to stare up at his cell walls while he literally fought to sleep, he'd likely go insane. Maybe the fresh air would make him tired, help him fall asleep tonight and _not_ dream for once. _Maybe_. And maybe he was just kidding himself.

He was halfway to the picnic tables when he saw her. Hunched over in the grass, her legs drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her knees, was Beth Greene. Curiosity tugging at him, he soundlessly moved forward, wondering why she was out here alone, after dark.

A strange thought occurred to him then - that maybe this was not the first time Beth had snuck out. Maybe she was accustomed to sneaking out for late night rendezvous with Zach, before he ... Daryl shook the thought from his head. Wasn't any of his damn business anyway, and neither was _this_. He was preparing to change directions when he saw her tiny frame shudder, his ears picking up the faintest sound of her muffled sobbing.

 _The girl who didn't cry anymore ...was crying._

Crying. Aww hell! Why was she crying? Her sister had just delivered news that would make any _normal_ person happy. A new baby was on the way. A little Greene-Rhee bundle of joy - five and half months and counting.

Maybe she was still mourning Zach, hidden away from prying eyes. _Maybe_.

A pang of guilt tore through his gut and suddenly, Daryl felt like he was intruding. He had no right to be here, slinking around in the dark like some asshole peeping Tom, watching her cry. He turned to leave, as she pulled her head up, her body stiffening, as if sensing she was not alone, and tilted her face towards him.

 _Fuck._

"Oh, hey Daryl," Beth greeted him, her voice thick, heavy with emotion, although she tried to mask it. Quickly swiping the sleeve of her over-sized sweater across her eyes in an attempt to erase the evidence of her tears, she scooted over, making room for him to sit beside her, in a show of the good manners her family had instilled in her.

 _Double fuck._

"Hey," he all but grunted back. He hadn't wanted to make his presence known, intending to slip soundlessly back into the shadows and forget he even saw her here. He had enough shit on his mind, enough weight on his shoulders, but without realizing it, his feet had moved on their own, far faster than his brain or common sense could register and catch up. And now it was done.

Daryl dropped to the grass, immediately fishing in his vest pocket for his cigarettes, needing to do something to occupy his hands. Flipping open his Zippo lighter, he struck the wick and lit the end of his smoke, puffing until the cherry was a glowing red ember, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out of his nose. He came outside with the intention to smoke anyway, might as well get to it. Beth remained silent, continuing to stare up at the milky night sky. A soft breeze blew across the prison yard, twirling the loose tendrils of her hair against her cheeks, until she pushed them behind her ears, and swiped at the moisture on her face again.

"Dad know you're out here?" He asked finally, feeling like he should say _something_ , his cigarette dangling between his lips. It was a shitty conversation starter, but he was shitty at starting conversations, so ...

"I'm not a child, Daryl. I go where I please," she replied, her tone the slightest bit indignant.

 _Well, that went well_. Pinching his cigarette between his fingertips, Daryl took another drag, exhaling in a whoosh and flicking his ashes on the ground before replacing it to his lips. Locking her in his peripheral gaze, he studied her profile in the moonlight. The delicate slope of her nose, the proud tilt of her chin, her lips drawn in a grim line and the furrowed brow -the look of a young woman who'd seen way more than she should have at her tender age, and she was right ... Beth Greene wasn't a child anymore, and hadn't been for awhile. Truthfully, Daryl just hadn't noticed until recently. _Maybe seven days ago, if he was being honest_.

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me." She shifted uncomfortably and he wondered if she was aware he was watching her.

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, forcing his eyes to look elsewhere and training them on the Walkers staggering outside of the gate. "S'okay. You're right. Ain't my business," he shrugged.

"No," Beth reached out, placing her hand on his shoulder momentarily. "I'm just touchy tonight. Overly sensitive, I guess."

Daryl's gaze flicked down to where her hand had just been, the warmth from her palm permeating through the thin fabric of his tattered flannel shirt, giving the impression that it was still there. "'Bout what?" He asked, the words just tumbling from his lips before it was too late to take them back. _Fuck again_. What the hell had gotten into him tonight? He really didn't want to know, but here he was, opening up his mouth again, as if his brain had taken a momentary hiatus.

"Glenn and Maggie," Beth spoke in a sigh, her voice barely audible. "The pregnancy."

Daryl scratched at the hair on his chin, taking another long drag from his cigarette. "Seemed like good news," he shrugged, flicking his spent butt into the grass a few feet away.

"It is," Beth agreed. "Sorta ..." She paused, grabbing a fistful of grass in her hand, as if she struggled with finding the right words to explain. "Just keep thinkin' about Lori and how all that went down. If somethin' were to happen to my sister-"

"Why ya even thinkin' like that?" Daryl interrupted her. "Circumstances were different, ain't even gonna be remotely the same."

"You don't know that," Beth shook her head, pulling the grass bunched in her hands out by the roots and tossing the clumps down in front of her.

"Neither do you," Daryl offered. "Between your Dad an' Carol, they ain't gonna let nothin' bad happen to Maggie. Shit, Glenn ain't gonna let her outta his sight."

"I want to be happy for them, I do," Beth insisted. "I just worry so much ..." she let her voice trail off for a moment. "We don't even know where the Governor is, or if he'll come back."

"He's gone," Daryl said with finality. He and Michonne had searched for him for months with no luck, and Michonne was still looking, refusing to give up. More than likely, he was dead, but if not ... "And if he ever comes back, I'll kill him," Daryl hissed, not bothering to hide the venom in his tone, as the painful memory of driving his blade into his brothers skull flashed before him.

Beth didn't reply. Daryl really hadn't expected her to. His anger was lost on her, beings he never talked about Merle to anyone. They all thought he was a piece of shit anyway, and maybe he was, but he was still his brother, his own flesh and blood. _And Daryl missed him_.

Beth shifted, pulling her knees tighter against her chest, her over-sized sweater slipping down and exposing the skin of her naked shoulder, the same way it had _that_ night in her cell. Daryl felt a strange stirring in his gut, noting that it was the exact same sweater, and even stranger, _why_ he had noticed. Clearing his throat, he turned his head, feeling inexplicably very awkward, as Beth pushed it back up her arm.

The silence was heavy as it stretched between them, and normally Daryl didn't mind the quiet, but tonight the air was suddenly wrought with tension, and it was unnerving. Suffocating, even. Not the peaceful zen he was seeking when he had stepped outside, intending to be alone. Fighting the urge to bolt, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for another cigarette, lighting it quickly and sucking the smoke down into his lungs, closing his eyes as he slowly blew it back out and willing his body to relax.

"You got an endless supply of those things, or somethin'?" Beth turned to ask him, looking directly into his eyes.

Her tone was playful, so Daryl bit back the usual smartass remark he reserved for when someone chastised him about his smoking, and shrugged instead. "Maybe." Then added, "helps me relax."

"Is it workin'?"

"Not really," Daryl admitted honestly, then immediately wished he could take it back as the awkward silence returned again.

She looked away then and Daryl quickly released the breath he'd been holding in. _Why the hell was everything so awkward tonight?_ It wasn't like this was the first conversation he'd had with Beth. Casual banter between the two didn't happen frequently, but it _had_ happened before, so what the hell was so different tonight?

 _You got her boyfriend killed, that's what. Dumbass._

Suddenly, the prospect of counting the cracks on his ceiling didn't seem so bad. Daryl frantically picked his brain for something, _anything_ to talk about to squelch the terrible awkward silence, but he kept drawing a blank.

"I need paper," Beth said suddenly. "Can you help me with that?"

Seemed like such an odd thing to request out of nowhere, but Daryl was thankful for a topic of discussion. He nodded, "Sure. Next time I go out -"

"I wanna come with you," Beth interrupted him.

She gasped then, flinging her hand over her mouth, as if she had startled herself by blurting it out. "Please?" She pleaded softly then, lowering her hand back down to her lap as she turned the big blue orbs of her eyes back on him again.

Daryl leaned forward, clearing his throat and dropping his gaze to the grass. He knew damn well he couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her no. Not after ... "Yer Dad would never-"

"Please?" She asked more forcefully. Her voice was thick with emotion again. "Haven't you ever just needed to get out? To just get the hell away from everythin' for awhile? From everyone?"

 _All the damn time._

"Yeah," he nodded.

"And I can take care of my dad," she added as an afterthought. "Just tell me you'll at least think about it? Please?" She added again for good measure.

He was going to tell her no. _Absolutely not_ , but, "I'll think on it," was what spilled out of his stupid fucking mouth.

She released a shuddering breath, and Daryl could physically see the tension that left her body on that little puff of oxygen. For reasons he couldn't quite begin to fathom, it eased up a bit on him too, and the awkwardness dissipated and then dissolved.

"Thanks for bringing me a plate," Daryl mumbled quietly, as he took another drag from the cigarette he suddenly remembered he was holding on to. Thinking, he probably shoulda thanked her earlier -like when she'd set it down in front of him.

Beth shrugged, like it wasn't no big deal, and Daryl figured to her it probably wasn't. Being kind, taking care of people, that shit came second nature to her. He observed it in the way she looked after Judith, practically raising another woman's child and thinking nothing of it. The careful way she tread lightly on the little torch everyone knew Carl was carrying for her. How she'd gone and ripped one leg shorter on all her Daddy's pants while everyone else was just standing around fearing the worst and waiting for him to die. Probably wasn't one drop of selfishness in her entire body.

"Thanks for bagging that doe," she countered, dragging him from his thoughts.

Daryl flicked his cigarette in the grass, leaning back on his elbows and feeling slightly more relaxed. "Couldn't go another day eatin' nothin' but that damn rice," he grunted.

Beth laughed, deep from her belly, a good hearty sound that danced around them in the air like a song. It tugged at the corners of his lips, as he titled his head to look at her.

"Better not let Carol hear that," she teased him, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes softening, as her smile ebbed. "But I'm sick of it too," her voice dropped an octave, as if it was a big secret.

Silence drifted over them again, but it no longer carried the stifling weight it held earlier. Daryl's eyes drifted up to the night sky, and Beth brushed her palm along the blades of grass at her sides, both of them content to sit and just be still for a bit.

It was Beth who broke the quiet this time, as she pulled herself up from the ground effortlessly, and swiped her hands along the back of her jeans, brushing off the debris from the ground. "I best be gettin' back inside, check in on Judy."

Daryl dragged himself up too, not nearly as gracefully as she'd done, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, intending to walk her back. Figuring it was the gentlemanly thing to do, even if he wasn't exactly a gentleman, but her hand on his arm stayed him.

"it's okay, I know the way back," she said softly, giving his bicep a little squeeze. "Stay. Enjoy the night air."

Daryl could only nod at her, as she pulled away, her hand slithering off of his arm slow as snake. She'd only moved about ten paces before she turned back to thank him.

"For what?" He asked, fiddling with the strap of his crossbow.

"For making me feel better," she called over her shoulder as she headed back to the prison, ponytail swinging with each stride she took.

He watched her until the heavy metal door swung shut behind her, and she was safe inside the prison. Daryl sunk back down into the grass and lit another cigarette, trying to ignore the tingling sensation he _still_ felt on his skin, and the warmth of her touch that lingered long after she'd gone.

 **A/N: Hello again my lovelies. Hope you're all in for a really sloooow burn, and if you are - you came to the right place! If you came here from my other fic, From the Ashes, I have some explaining to do .. FTA was never supposed to be the multi-chapter fic it morphed in to. When I started it, I had only intended for it to be a smutty tree sex one shot, but then I became obsessed with bringing them to that point, and it morphed into a short story, which was met with such good reception, it just kind of snowballed from there. The point to my insanely chunky run-on sentence above? I didn't actually write FTA in a true slow burn fashion (because c'mon, no matter how HOT chapter 7 was, it would have never escalated that quickly). So this is my reset, in the form of a new story, and why not? Everything gets a return. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - I'll seek you out, flay you alive**

 _I'll seek you out, flay you alive,_

One more word and you won't survive.

And I'm not scared of your stolen power,

I see right through you any hour.

"Eyes On Fire" - Blue Foundation

* * *

Daryl shot straight up in bed, the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears like the steady beating of a drum. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ He shook his head, mouth dry and throat aching with the effort it took just to breathe, but couldn't seem to get past the lump lodged therein. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ The pounding persisted, and Daryl cupped his hand over his ears, trying to drive the sound away while he focused on slowing his breathing.

It took a few minutes for Daryl to realize that it wasn't his heart that was beating in his ears, threatening to drive him _fucking_ mad. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Throwing his hole-ridden, paper thin blanket off, he slid from his bunk and out into the hallway, following the sound to its source.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._ His bare feet padded quietly on the concrete below, and Daryl had the faintest stirring in his gut that this wasn't right. He didn't remember taking off his boots before collapsing onto his cot, and the cold ground underfoot sent a shiver shooting up and down the length of his spine with each step he took.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._ The sound was growing louder now, as he crept down the stairs, the steel grates cutting into his toes. He knew where the sound was leading him before he even stepped off of the last step ...Beth's cell. Of course he _knew_ it would be Beth's cell. A cold chill gripped him, seeping through his skin and settling straight down into the marrow of his bones. The prickling fear at the back of your neck like a child tucked up to his chin, waiting for the closet door to slowly groan open in the middle of the night. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Cursing himself for leaving his crossbow behind, Daryl swallowed convulsively as he peeled the curtain back slowly, revealing not Beth's little cell with the all of her cheerful doodles on the walls, but a bedroom. Clothing strewn about the stained worn carpeted floor very much in need of a good vacuuming and two mismatched dressers with drawers hanging open - he knew this place, _this_ room. Knew who'd be laying in the scummy ass bed with no sheet and mismatched pillowcases, once he pulled the curtain all the way back. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Black eye all swollen shut and bruises mottling pale skin that barely ever felt the kiss of the sun, sat his mother, a Virginia Slim tucked between her fingertips. Hair all a mess piled high atop her head that sat on shoulders so _damn_ thin and frail it was a wonder she could even hold her head up at all. She shuddered, a tremor that Daryl could feel from across the room -shaking him straight to the soles of his feet, then tipped her neck backwards and slammed her own skull into the ratty ass headboard behind her. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Daryl's stomach lurched in his throat as he tried to cry out, tell her to stop, _please God fucking stop_ , but he had no voice, just strangled sounds and puffs of empty air. She turned to look at him then, one good eye, blue like his, wet with tears and the sadness depicted deep within its depths reached inside Daryl's chest and wrenched at his heart, twisting it like a wrung out t-shirt. With a shaking hand, she brought that Virginia Slim up to a fat lip, caked with dried blood and sucked in a ragged breath, coughing as she exhaled, her brittle bones looking as if they'd snap from the exertion. She mouthed the words "I'm sorry" through those same swollen lips and Daryl could only look on in horror, his feet cemented to the floor, as she dropped her lit cigarette onto the bed and it instantly burst into flames, swallowing her whole.

Like an inferno, the fire licked at his skin, and Daryl, his feet finally unglued, staggered backwards, shielding his eyes - his scream choked off by the acrid smoke creeping deep into his lungs, robbing him of his breath. He turned to run, and could feel the flames lapping at his back, singeing his skin, the unyielding pain forcing him to his knees as the belt slammed down and bit into his back with so much force it knocked the wind out of him.

Over and over the lash sliced through him, peeling back the layers of his torn flesh and leaving him open, raw and bleeding while his father screamed obscenities at him - the words just as painful as the leather flaying his skin. _Worthless lil' piece'a shit! Killed yer ma! Drove away yer brother! Ya cryin' yet boy? Go on ya lil' pussy, cry! Cry! Cry!_

Droplets of water hit the concrete below him as the belt came down again and again, and Daryl realized the drops weren't water at all, but tears springing from his own eyes, streaming down his cheeks. The pain was excruciating, every nerve ending exploding, and it took every bit of strength he had within himself to not cry out, to _not_ give into the pain. He clamped his teeth down on the inside of his cheek, biting until he tasted blood, he would _not_ cry out, he would _not_ give his father the satisfaction. _He wouldn't!_

Daryl raised his head, blinking past the searing pain, and the image before him broke whatever remnants remained of the decrepit muscle pounding away in his chest - his eleven year old self huddled in the corner, cowering as he watched. Hair falling down to shield his face, his eyes peeping up over the threadbare sleeve of Merle's hand-me-down dinosaur pajamas, his knees drawn up to his chest. _Don't look_ , Daryl's own voice screamed inside his head, drowning out his father's voice. But Daryl knew, he _knew_ what it felt like -afraid to look, but more afraid to look away.

With trembling hands, Daryl reached, muscles straining, fingers outstretched, for that tiny little boy, cowering in the corner, frightened and alone. And the boy reached back, wide eyed, arms stretching as far as they could without leaving the safety of his corner... their fingers brushed, and Daryl could hear his voice ringing in his ears ... _Don't go, don't leave me here alone_ ...

Daryl jolted awake, a scream perched on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it -shoving it down until he gagged on it. His breathing coming in frantic bursts, heart pounding like a locomotive barreling down the tracks with no brakes, he pinched his arm, making sure he was really awake this time, finding comfort in the pain there, that was tangible, that was _real_. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently counted to ten, blew out a shaky breath then counted back down to one, until finally his heart slowed its pace and he could drag a good, deep breath into his lungs, and get the oxygen flowing back to his dizzy brain.

Grabbing the worn out strip of cloth that served as his blanket, Daryl jerked it up over his shoulders and rolled onto his side, folding his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around himself -the only hug he'd known since his mother had perished in that fire long ago. Until _eight days ago_ , and Beth. A sob worked its way up his throat, muffled by the blanket, and Daryl shook, crumbling under the weight of his pain, as the tears set in, slithering down his cheeks and pooling onto the pillow beneath his head.

* * *

The morning came and went, no different than the one before it, except for the heavy unsettling weight Daryl felt in his chest. He shook it off the best he could, knowing he had shit to do, unable to kick the sour mood that accompanied it. His nerves felt prickly, as prickly as his scars that burned beneath the fabric of his sleeveless button down shirt, making him feel especially uncomfortable under Carol's scrutinizing gaze leveled at him from the other end of the table. Daryl did his best to ignore it, as the Council concluded their bi-daily meeting, keeping his eyes averted until Sasha swept her away in conversation regarding repairing the hose that pumped water to them from the creek outside the fence.

Hershel was busy tucking away his notes that they'd gone over during the meeting - a habit he'd picked up a few weeks back, helping them to get more organized and prioritized and any other "ized" that went along with it. Daryl fiddled with the strap of his crossbow, patiently waiting for Hershel to neatly fold up his papers and stuff them away in his pocket. If he was gonna take Beth out on a run, he'd need some time to observe her outside of the safety the fences provided, see how well she handled herself, and if she could follow directions. And he most certainly wasn't going to go traipsing around through no-mans land with Hershel Greene's youngest daughter without his permission, no matter how much she pleaded, no matter that they'd be _just_ outside the fences. He had to check the snares Rick had laid the night before anyway, and it provided the perfect opportunity.

Daryl hadn't exactly pinpointed when he had crossed over from _"I'll think on it"_ to actually considering it, especially after losing Zach just eight days ago. He suspected it had something to do with the pained way Beth had asked him if he ever felt the need to just get away, and how he'd seen the faintest glimmer of himself there, mirrored in her wide blue eyes. It struck a chord deep down inside him, someone who could relate to him, even just a little. When everyone else was scrambling to get inside the fences, and he was scrambling to get out.

He also suspected it had something to do with the role he played in her boyfriend's death - guilt was no stranger to Daryl, but this was _different_ somehow, and he'd do this little thing for her if it would make her happy. _If_ she proved she could handle herself well enough outside the prison perimeter.

"Something you need, Daryl?" Hershel asked, a bit of concern furrowing his brow.

 _Shit_. Now that he actually had his attention, Daryl didn't have the slightest idea on how to go about askin'. "I -uh," he stammered, realizing how _God damned_ stupid he probably sounded. "Gonna go check the snares. Beth ... " _Fuck it_. He'd just come right out with it. Maybe Hershel would say no, and then he'd be off the hook. "Was wonderin' if you minded if she tagged along?"

Hershel sighed, his bushy white eyebrows drawing together. "Beth mentioned you might been willing to take her outside the fences. Has she been relentless?"

"Huh?" Daryl asked, a bit taken aback by both Hershel's admission and the question that followed.

 _And I can take care of my Dad._

"Headstrong, just like her mother," Hershel explained with a little chuckle. "It's both a blessing and a curse." He sighed again, "I've been sensing her growing restless since ..." Hershel let his voice trail off, but Daryl knew exactly what he had intended to say. "I think maybe sometimes she worries that she doesn't measure up to Maggie."

Daryl chewed the inside of his lip. He never quite got that impression from Beth, but what the hell did he know? Takin' care of Judith weren't no easy job, and Beth did plenty to pull her weight around the prison, as he was pretty sure their clothing didn't wash and mend themselves, and she had her share of fence duty, just like everyone else. Cookin', carin', helpin' her Dad stitch someone up when he needed her assistance, the list rambled on in his head until Hershel's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Now I'm not too keen on the idea, mind you," the furrow in Hershel's brow returned briefly before softening out again. "But there's only three men in this prison that I'd trust with my girls lives, and Daryl, you're one of them."

Daryl ducked his head in understanding, mainly because he wasn't sure what else the fuck to do, or how he was even supposed to respond to that. It sounded very much like a compliment, and he'd never been very good with those. "Know where she's at?" He asked instead.

"Should be settling Judith down for an afternoon nap right about now," Hershel replied, placing one thick hand down on the back of his chair to steady himself as he pushed away from the table.

He took well to the prosthetic leg they'd found on a run, even without the physical therapy that usually came along with ownin' one, but it still left him wobbly sometimes. Gettin' the hang of it hadn't been easy, and it knocked him on his ass a few times, but he yanked himself back up by the boot straps and kept on goin'. Hershel Greene was a tough ol' sonofabitch, and Daryl had the utmost respect for him.

"Want me to fetch her?" He asked then, hoisting a finger to Glenn, who was still waiting for him by the door, to alert him to give them a moment more.

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, adjusting the strap of his crossbow a bit more comfortably on his shoulder. "Headin' that way anyway," he said as he started towards the door, giving Glenn a nod as he scooted past him.

"Daryl," Hershel's voice brought him screeching to a temporary halt. "Take care of my Bethy."

It was an order. A gentle one, but there was an urgency that resonated in his tone that Daryl understood, entrusting his youngest daughter into Daryl's care. It gave him an odd little zing of pride, shooting up his spine and settling into his shoulders that rose up a fraction from their hunched state. Looking Hershel square in the eyes, Daryl gave him a final slow nod of his head, then went in search of Beth.

He found her a few minutes later, where Hershel said she'd be, tip-toeing out of Rick's cell. Beth smiled when she saw him, as if she knew _exactly_ why he'd come searchin' her out, and according to Hershel, she _did_. He should have been annoyed, and maybe in some small part, he was, but instead, he just told her to meet him by the gate when she was ready, as he shuffled by.

Daryl had only been waiting by the gate a few minutes before she joined him, pony tail swinging behind her and a backpack draped over her shoulder. She carried something black in her hands, and Daryl couldn't really make out what it was until she stood before him. A thigh rig - _Maggie's_. It only occurred to him then, that Beth didn't have a sheath of her own. She hadn't had a use for one, really. She could shoot - and _well_ too, but aside from fence duty, she was never really up close and personal with the Walkers. She'd need one, though. Especially if he was takin' her on a run, eventually. Borrowing one from her sister, or carryin' her knife in the back pocket of her jeans just wasn't practical.

Beth ripped open the Velcro and bending at the waist, attempted to wrap the sheath around her upper thigh, struggling as her backpack shifted and kept slumping down on her neck. She mumbled a curse, squatting a bit, as she tried again to unsuccessfully hold the band in place, while tugging it in between her legs. Daryl crossed his arms over his chest, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as she turned an exasperated expression up at him and blew out a heavy sigh, letting the sheath drop to the ground.

"Thanks for the help," she tossed at him dryly.

Taking pity on her, Daryl ducked down, all traces of amusement gone from his face, as he grabbed the sheath. Wrapping one hand behind her to hold the rig in place, he pushed the other between her thighs, pulled the strap through and secured the Velcro, then gave it a little tug to make sure it was fastened snugly.

Beth gasped, the slightest little intake of air, and Daryl glanced up just in time to see the blush that bloomed in her cheeks and crept down into his own, making his ears burn. He ripped his hands away and stood, clearing his throat and spared a quick glance around the yard to see if anyone had witnessed the awkward exchange.

"Thanks," Beth muttered, slipping her blade into the sheath that was clearly made for a much bigger knife than her pathetic little kitchen looking model. It held though, and with a roll of her shoulders, she indicated she was ready to go.

Daryl bent and pulled the knife with the ivory hilt from his boot and held it in his outstretched hand. "Here," he grunted. "This ones gotta bit more weight to it."

Beth accepted it, turning it in her grasp and testing its 'weight'. She sliced the air a few times, getting a feel for her new borrowed weapon.

"Feel it?" He asked.

"Yeah," Beth nodded, a smile forming on her lips. "Thanks."

"Stay close," Daryl instructed her, eager to get back to business and away from Beth's appreciative smile that was bordering on uncomfortable. "When we get out, I'm gonna head straight for the tree line," he pointed to the trees on the right side of the road, as he pulled his own blade from where it rested at his hip. "Rick likes to set the snares over there. Get your knife up, have it ready and stay on my heels."

Beth nodded her understanding, preparing to run, as Daryl adjusted his crossbow more comfortably on his back and motioned for Carl to slide open the gate. There was less than a handful of Walkers on the other side, nothing that should give them any real trouble and with a duck of his chin in Beth's direction, Daryl took off running for the tree line. He easily avoided the first two, skirting past them and their putrid stench, but the third one got closer than he liked, so Daryl took it down, kicking its foot out from under it to knock it off balance and slammed his blade into its skull, sending it plummeting motionless to the ground. Beth remained right behind him, as she was told, only breaking stride to give Daryl the space he needed to take down the Walker, as the gate squeaked closed behind them, and the two that remained turned their attention to the stick Carl was banging against it.

They made it safely into the cover of the trees, Daryl giving Beth a gentle shove ahead of him so she could take point -mostly so he could keep an eye on her. The deeper they eased into the woods, the more his tension began to ebb, as he shook off the remnants of last nights nightmare, still clinging to his skin. Daryl drew in a deep breath, letting the forest seep into his lungs. The smell of pine, and bark, a hint of decay - the good kind, that had the leaves from the previous fall crunching beneath their boots, eventually returning to the soil. _He needed this._

Beth also seemed to be in her element, stopping periodically to trail her fingers across some flowering bush, pluck a ladybug from a branch, or tilt her face up to the sun when there was a break in the trees. Daryl wondered if she'd spent a lot of time out in the woods that surrounded the Greene Farm before the turn, and the whole world went to shit. He could almost picture her, riding horseback through the fields, ducking down, gripping the horses mane tight as it thundered through the brush, blonde hair flying behind her like a cape, like the day Maggie came up on them in the woods, whiskin' Lori away like some _damn_ Lone Ranger warrior princess.

"Hold up," he called to Beth, so wrapped up in his thoughts, he nearly walked right on by the first snare. It was empty though, so he waved her on with the flick of his wrist.

They walked on, and as the path widened, Daryl moved up to fall in stride beside Beth. She'd been relatively quiet, and he wondered if she did so for his benefit. Either way, he was appreciative of the silence, and the way she didn't make him feel obligated to carry on a conversation, even as their knuckles brushed against each other every few steps.

As they approached the next trap, they were rewarded with a limp cottontail, a bit on the scrawny side, but meat was meat, and it would still make a good stew or something. While Daryl bent down to disengage the rabbit and reset the snare, Beth watched him intently with curious blue eyes, as if she were committing it to memory, tucking it away for later use like she did when she was observing Hershel treating someone's injuries, making herself more useful the next time around.

They moved along towards the next snare, the path narrowing again, so Daryl fell in step behind her, startling when she gave a delighted little shriek, then clamped her hands over her mouth when she'd realized what she'd done.

"Raspberries," she breathed, pointing excitedly to the prickly bushes up ahead. Daryl gave her a nod, when she glanced back at him, her eyebrows rising in an unspoken request for permission.

"Keep your eyes and ears open," he reminded her, as she bounded to the bush, his own approach far less exuberant.

"Oh Daryl," she squealed, voice all breathy with excitement. "I haven't had raspberries in so long."

Beth began plucking the berries from the bush, pausing every few seconds to pop a few into her mouth and closing her eyes as she let the juicy little berries tickle her taste buds. She turned, palm outstretched to offer some to him.

"Nah, I'm good," Daryl waved her off, content to watch her as she picked the bush clean of every ripe berry in sight, until her hands were spilling over with them. Tugging his handkerchief from his back pocket, he nudged her shoulder, unfolding it and offering it to her.

"Thanks," she smiled, depositing the berries into it, and gently folding it closed. She slid her backpack off her shoulder and carefully tucked her precious new treat safely into the front pocket.

They moved on then, finding the next two snares disappointingly empty as well. One out of four was not good odds, but they still had one more to go. The sun moved higher in the sky, beating down its heat onto the canopy above them, and Daryl guessed they'd been gone only about thirty minutes or so, give or take.

"Might as well see if I can bag a few squirrels," Daryl called ahead to her.

"Yeah okay," Beth bobbed her head, sending her ponytail bouncing between her shoulder blades. "Better than rice, I guess," she giggled, reminding him of their conversation last night.

A smile tickled the corner of his mouth, but he shook it off as they came upon the third snare and were rewarded with a much fatter cottontail. Daryl bent to retrieve it, but Beth was a bit quicker, and beat him to it. With nimble fingers, she unhooked the rabbit, carefully laying it on the ground as she concentrated on properly resetting the snare as he'd done earlier, going by memory alone. Daryl watched a moment, waiting to make sure she did it right before grabbing the rabbit and tying it to the string looped around his shoulder, so it could dangle with its other fallen comrade.

"Good job Greene," he nodded, as Beth stood and brushed the dirt from the knees of her jeans, beaming proudly up at him. "Lets go see'bout them squirrels," he jerked his chin, indicating they should stick to the path.

There was a small clearing up ahead where a pond sat, feeding the stream they used as their primary water source at the prison. Daryl moved soundlessly ahead of Beth, waving her back as he raised up his crossbow and tread cautiously out of the cover of the trees. Knees bent, he stayed low to the ground, until he was sure the coast was clear and waved Beth out of the trees. Humans had proven to be far more dangerous foes than the Walkers, and although almost three seasons had passed since the attack on the prison, they could never be sure of _who_ was slinking around in the woods.

A pair of ducks sat bobbing in the pond, eyeing them warily and swimming what they suspected to be a safer distance away. A plump duck that would feed more mouths than a couple of puny squirrels. Daryl raised his crossbow, catching the brown female in his sights and lining up his shot.

He sensed her presence beside him long before he felt Beth's fingers curl around his bicep, the flick of her gaze alerting him to the egg filled nest tucked along the edge of the pond. He looked down at her, her brows furrowed with worry, her mouth set in a grim line, and her eyes pleading with him not to make the shot.

Daryl lowered his crossbow, his flesh tingling where her fingertips had rested on his bare skin, and blew out a shaky breath. _Squirrels it was_.

"You hungry?" Beth asked suddenly.

He was. "Nah," he answered her, shaking his head as he took a seat under one of the trees, leaning back against the bark.

"Daryl, I know you didn't eat breakfast," Beth said, plopping down across from him and shrugging out of her backpack. She tugged it onto her lap and unzipped it, pulling out two bottles of water and tossing one to him. "And we already missed lunch."

Daryl twisted off the cap and drank greedily, impressed that Beth had the foresight to bring some water, because he sure as shit hadn't. "What else you got in there, girl?" He asked, dragging his hand across his mouth.

"A couple peanut butter cracker sandwich packs and a first aid kit," she answered, tossing him a cracker pack.

Daryl caught it effortlessly and tore right into the package, belying his denial of being hungry. Beth ate hers more daintily, ripping the package at its seam and taking a bite of hers, rather than scarfing it whole like he had.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she let out an excited little yelp, reaching back into her pack and pulling out two condiment packs of jelly. "Grape or strawberry?" She asked, holding them out for him to choose.

Daryl reached out and grabbed the grape one, slicing it open with his teeth and after inhaling another cracker sandwich whole, sucked the jelly right out of it the package.

"Gross," Beth giggled at him, shaking her head. She opened her jelly packet as delicately as she had the crackers, then squeezed a little blob of it onto her sandwich. With another silly giggle, her eyes sparkling up at him mischievously, she popped the entire cracker in her mouth, just as he had.

Daryl didn't bother hiding his smile this time. He dug into his last cracker the same way, sucking the jelly packet empty and licked his fingers clean, then sat back, nursing his water while Beth finished her meal all ladylike and shit.

"Uhh," Beth swished her finger along the top side of her lip, "You've got jelly ..." Without a second thought, she pushed up on her knees and leaned over, gently swiping her index finger along the corner of his lips.

Daryl froze, his breath puffing in little bursts against her palm, as she captured the sticky purple drop and rubbed it into oblivion between her fingertips. And then, Beth froze too, poised there, her fingers still just scant inches from his lips, and raised her wide blue eyes up at him, her mouth falling into a little _oh_ , as if she'd only just realized what she'd done.

Daryl forced himself to swallow as a strange nervous fluttering ignited a warmth deep in his belly and a tightness crept into chest. The air grew thick and heavy, swirling around them and then Beth averted her eyes and sat back on her heels and finally, Daryl could trust himself to breathe again.

And then, there it was again, that _damn_ awkward silence.

"We should get moving," he mumbled, rising abruptly before it had a chance to get suffocating.

Beth remained silent as she packed her water bottle back into her backpack and pulled herself up, and Daryl couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. And where exactly had he heard _that_ phrase before?

They headed back to the path, the squirrels all but forgotten, as they marched single file towards home, Beth again, in the lead. This time, when the path widened, Daryl remained behind her, trying to make some sense of what the hell had just transpired below that tree.

He didn't like to be touched. _At all_. And yet, this was not the usual uncomfortable prickling feeling Daryl normally got when someone had invaded his personal space. _Yes_ , it was still uncomfortable, but this was _different_. A different uncomfortable. And warm. Warm like her hand on his arm, and like that touch, this one lingered too.

So engrossed in his thoughts, Daryl wasn't even aware that Beth had stopped walking until he slammed into her back. She let out a little _oomph_ as she stumbled forward and his hand snaked out to grab her, setting her upright.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and this was _not_ good. He could not afford to be this damn distracted while shuffling through the woods with the girl he had sworn to protect. "Why the hell ya stop?" He growled, his words coming out harsher than he intended.

Beth's head snapped around at that, her eyes narrowing as she pointed down to one of the snares that had caught another rabbit in their absence. _Well, at least one of them was paying attention to their surroundings_ , he thought dryly, as he stooped down to collect the rabbit, and reset the snare. She'd already started moving ahead without him, so Daryl quickened his pace, catching up to fall in step behind her. Beth's shoulders were rigid, and Daryl wondered if she was pissed at him, and anyway, why the hell should he care if she was? _But he did_.

"Ya did good today," He grunted, a half ass attempt at an apology. She _really_ had though.

Beth craned her neck around to flash him a warm smile. "I know," she replied confidently - _bordering on cocky_ , ponytail swinging wildly between her shoulder blades.

This time, when the smile twitched at his lips, Daryl let it fly, since her back was turned anyway. As they drew closer to the road, he whistled to get her attention, motioning for Beth to fallback behind him, and she did so without question. The same two Walkers they'd ran by on their way out were still shuffling along in front of the prison gate and a few more had gathered a few yards out up the road. Daryl wasn't worried about them, as they were too far away to get close enough to be an issue before they slipped through the fence. Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let out a high pitched whistle to alert whoever was at the gate, that they were coming and waited for the callback whistle before stepping out of the cover of the trees.

He turned to tell Beth to take out her knife, but she was already one step ahead of him, crouched and ready to run, her blade clutched tightly in hand. No words, just a nod between them, Daryl raised his crossbow and sent a well aimed bolt flying through the back of the head of the closest Walker and dashed from the trees, as it fell forward with a squishy _thud_. The other Walker turned just in time to get a crossbow upside the head, as the gate squealed open and Daryl shoved Beth to safety. He bent to retrieve his bolt, wrenching it out of the decaying skull before joining her behind the fence.

Thanking Carl for letting them in, Daryl turned to Beth. "Ya good?" He asked, swiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead.

Face slightly flushed, Beth nodded, turning the knife blade against herself to hand it back to him, hilt facing out. "Thanks for lettin' me borrow it," she said, voice still breathy.

Daryl shook his head, waving her off. "Nah, why don't ya go ahead and keep it. Maybe we find you a sheath?"

Beth's face lit up like a Christmas tree and for a split second, Daryl thought she was going to throw her arms around him, and he wasn't quite sure if he would mind, to be honest. But instead, she just tucked it back into her borrowed thigh rig and thanked him, blue eyes all shining.

"See you boys at dinner," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, ponytail again swinging.

 _Boys?_ As if on cue, Carl blew out a long drawn out sigh, reminding Daryl that he was still standing beside him. He turned, cracking a smile at the kid, watching Beth leave with sad puppy dog eyes.

"Hey, get your eyes back in your head," Daryl scolded him, as he slung his bow up over his shoulder and headed towards where he parked his bike.

Carl mumbled something under his breath as he climbed back up to his post, and while Daryl couldn't be sure what he said, it sounded very much like _"take your own advice"_.

 **A/N: Not much to follow up on, except a _thigh rig_ is a knife sheath that wraps around your thigh. There are two kinds - one that hooks onto your belt and wraps around your thigh (like Maggie's S04 one in the show), and then another that just wraps completely around your thigh. Obviously, for narrative purposes, I decided to make Maggie's the latter. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ **Welcome again my lovelies! So, some good news and some bad news - the GOOD NEWS is that you get an extra installment of TWF this week (because my editor Ben is so generous). The BAD NEWS is that it will likely be about 10 days before you get another one. Ben is leaving on vacation for a week, and I won't bother him with the fic business while he's relaxing. I thought about waiting to post this chapter until next week, but I was just TOO EXCITED to wait! Some additional good news: while he's away, I'll continue working on chapter 4 and 5, and also a one-shot follow up to FTA, that I WILL post next week - so technically, I'm not leaving you empty handed. ;)**

 **Chapter 3 - Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new**

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,

and I think of you.

 _Caught up in circles,_

 _confusion is nothing new._

"Time After Time" - Cyndi Lauper

It was nearly dusk when Daryl finally found his way back inside of the prison, having busied himself with joining in on fence duty to help disperse the pile up of Walkers that decided to congregate on the fences to the left of the courtyard. Even after dinner was announced and everyone took off, he stayed on to reinforce the fence a bit with Tyreese's help, until he chased him off to eat, too. Tomorrow he'd have to take a team out to help him clean up and burn all the bodies, and investigate what was causing the flux at this portion of the fence, but for now, he needed to scrub the Walker chunks and splatter from his body.

Dinner was still in full swing, so it was the perfect opportunity to go get cleaned up without the risk of bumping into anyone. As a general rule, Daryl did not use the showers when anyone was around - for several reasons, the most obvious being the scars that mottled his back, and the stares or questions that would surely ensue. And he sure as fuck didn't want or need anyone's pity. To his knowledge, the only person here that even knew of their existence was Hershel - from when he had patched him up back at the farm, and he was pretty damn sure his secret was safe with him.

Arriving at his destination, Daryl hooked to the right and ducked into the locker room. At some point the lockers had housed the prison guards belongings, now they held clean clothing and toiletries for the prison's new occupants. Two lines of benches sat in the center of the room, flanked by lockers on all sides and a small table by the door stacked with folded towels and piles of clean clothing in various sizes- in case you didn't have anything clean of your own. Tucked neatly under the table was a rolling laundry cart for dirty clothes, so whoever had laundry duty could replenish the table every few days.

Everyone had their own locker -all affixed with masking tape and black marker labels to identify who they belonged to. Daryl assumed the locker room to the left -the women's locker room, looked similar, but with more girly shit. For now, this system worked, but if they continued picking up survivors out on the road, they'd have to go back to assigning shower times, or expand into more of the prison.

Little by little, and with the more people they acquired, they were beginning to press deeper into the tombs, cleaning up and making use of the extra cell blocks and rooms, finding useful shit along the way. That's how they'd opened up the kitchen and cafeteria. They padlocked the cooler, _for obvious reasons_ , but now had access to various pots, pans and cooking utensils, and a much larger dinning area that would come in handy when the cold weather moved back in and made the outdoor kitchen they'd constructed, less useful. Carol enjoyed having the counter space too, and if they could figure out a way to fire up one of the stoves and ovens, she'd be on cloud nine. For now, the little propane grills and skillets served their purposes, but propane was becoming a hot commodity, so Daryl wasn't sure how long that would last - _another_ item to add to the growing list, and _still_ nothing to cross off.

Grabbing a clean towel off of the table, Daryl sighed, propping his crossbow against the lockers and flopping down on the bench. He bent to unlace his boots, kicking them off, and tucking them out of the way. His hands already working his belt buckle, he stood back up and swung open his locker. He didn't keep much in it -just a bar of soap, some shampoo and deodorant, and a couple clean changes of clothing that Carol had labeled the tags with his name, so that they were always returned to him, instead of making their way to the table stacks.

Shrugging out of his vest, Daryl hung it on one of the pegs, his belt on the other, and tugged his dirty shirt up and off over his head, then peeled off his socks. He grabbed some clean clothing, not really giving a shit if they matched, because no one really gave a shit about that anymore anyway - and truthfully, he never had at all. Pausing to listen and make sure the coast was still clear, Daryl dumped his dirty stuff into the laundry cart and clutching his clean change of clothes, headed for the showers.

Ironically enough, they had been actual shower stalls at one point, when electricity and running water wasn't just a luxury of the past. Now, plastic drums of water hooked to a pumping system of Hershel's design provided the spray from the shower heads above. If the drum was full, the water was fucking cold as hell, even coming in sweat soaked from the hot Georgia sun, so Daryl found a stall where the drum was about half full, and slid behind the flimsy shower curtain.

Propping his clean clothing on the windowsill, Daryl stripped the rest of the way down to nothing and reached for the pump, flinching as the cool water hit him in the chest, chasing a gasp out of him. Even at room temperature it chilled him, painting goosebumps along the flesh of his arms and legs. Like diving into a cold lake, it was best to get it over and done with, adjust and move on, so Daryl ducked his head under the stream, wetting his entire body quickly.

Reaching for the soap, he began to go over his mental checklist for tomorrow. Council meeting, assemble a team to go outside the fences and clean up the Walker mess, burn the bodies... With a twinge of regret, he realized someone else would have to take his place to check the snares. Maybe Michonne?

Consistently for the last five days, Beth had accompanied Daryl to check the snares during Judith's afternoon nap. They'd picked up a pattern, so to speak. He'd wait for her at the gate, and they'd go out together -only now, she was the one checking and resetting the snares, and he was just sort of chaperoning.

She was learning how to handle herself better too, not being afraid of one-on-one Walker combat anymore. He gave her little tips on how to strike the most effectively, where to place her feet, how to hold her knife so she didn't lose it in some unfortunate corpses' skull. He had actually started looking forward to the time as a break of sorts. It was good for her too, Daryl knew, to get outside the fences for a bit. Sometimes they talked -or rather, Beth did. Sometimes they were content just to enjoy the outdoors and each other's company in silence.

One thing Daryl could say with complete certainty ... Beth had more than proven her capabilities, and he felt confident that she was ready to go out on a run. He just hadn't found the right opportunity to tell her yet.

Or maybe he just really _didn't want to_ , he realized, as he scrubbed the soap against his skin, working up a lather of suds and blood splatter. Maybe he was afraid that once he took her on a run, their daily snare trips would stop altogether when she didn't feel the need to impress him with her skills anymore. _Or_ maybe-

The water stopped abruptly, and Daryl reached out to pump it again, stepping directly under the spray to rinse the top half of himself off. He braced his arm on the wall and began scrubbing his feet -first one, then the other, as his thoughts continued rattling on in his head.

 _Or_ maybe Daryl could just admit to himself that he was enjoying spending time with Beth Greene far more than he was comfortable with. To the point that even her touches were becoming _less_ uncomfortable -and _that_ in itself _was_ uncomfortable. A whole confusing fucking can of worms wriggling around in his brain until it hurt. _Ugh_.

She was careful about her touches now, Daryl noticed. A slight pressure on his bicep usually, or a tap on the shoulder when she wanted to get his attention. Not like that day under the trees when she'd wiped the jelly from the corner of his mouth - and even _that_ hadn't been unpleasant. Just ... _different_. Warm and -

A shudder rippled through him, as the water stopped again, and Daryl looked down, surprised to see his dick, soapy and hardening in his own hands. Just slightly, but enough to make him _want_ to touch himself in a way he hadn't, except on occasion, since his early teenage years.

Reaching to pump the water again, Daryl dropped his soapy cock, shook his head and rinsed off quickly. _Yeah, he wasn't gonna go there_. He washed his hair as fast as he could manage and reached for his towel, feeling the need to be clothed, like he suddenly couldn't even trust his own damn body.

Stepping into his clean pair of boxers, Daryl shook out his new shirt with its sleeves hacked off, and slipped it on, fumbling quickly to secure the buttons. Once his back was covered, he dragged on his pants and slid the shower curtain open, his bare feet slapping on the wet concrete as he made his way back to the locker room to collect the rest of his belongings.

The room started to fill up as he was leaving, Tyrese being among the crowd, leaving Daryl to assume that dinner was over. Another meal skipped, but at least he was clean. He nodded at Ty on his way out, shouldering his crossbow as he headed over to cell block D, hoping Carol was there.

She was.

"Hey," she greeted him, looking up from the ledger she was going over. "Just the food inventory," she explained, flipping her journal shut. "We're running low on canned goods, mainly fruit, so keep your eyes peeled next time you head out, okay?"

Daryl nodded, chewing the skin of his thumb as he stepped inside of her cell. "Ya got an extra blade sheath?" He asked. Carol had become the keeper of most things inventory, including the weapons stash. If there was an extra sheath or holster, she'd have it.

"Sure," she shrugged, her eyes flicking to his own sheath at his hip, as she bent down to drag a crate out from under her bunk. Dropping to her knees, she flipped the lid open and began to dig, as Daryl crouched down in front of her.

"Gonna assemble a small group to go outside the fence tomorrow. There was a pile up again by the field," Daryl informed her. "Ty helped me reinforce it with some posts, but there's a bunch of dead ones piled up against it, pushin' in on it. Gotta clean up, burn 'em and find out why that area is suddenly so popular." He'd say as much at tomorrow's Council meeting, but maybe Carol had some ideas.

"Maybe we can put up some spikes?" She paused from digging to look up at him, only now just realizing that his hair was wet and he was clean. "Well don't you look pretty when you're all cleaned up?" She smiled, a teasing note to her voice.

"Stop," Daryl shook his head, tempted to roll his eyes at her. "Was thinking maybe we should dig some pits?" He shifted the conversation back on topic.

"Pits and spikes? That'll take a lot of manpower and supplies," she said, pulling a sheath out and handing it to Daryl. "It's not a bad idea, though. We'll just have to do one at a time."

Daryl nodded, looking down to inspect the sheath. It was big and bulky, and not very Beth-like ... _whatever the fuck that even meant_. "Got anything more ... _girly_?" He asked, clearing his throat and wanting to crawl under the bed and hide for even asking.

"Girly?" Carol repeated, raising an eyebrow up at him.

"Yeah," Daryl shot back, his feathers more than a little ruffled. "Like for a girl."

Carol pursed her lips, biting back any comical retort she might have been thinking of tossing at him, but her eyes remained alight with humor and gave her away. She plucked the sheath from his hands and dropped it back in her crate, then continued to dig. "And who might this _girly_ sheath be for?" She asked.

Daryl really wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business, but he was sure Carol would have her eye on everyone's hip looking for it, so he blew out a shaky breath and rolled with it. "It's for Beth. I'm gonna take her on a run and she needs one for her blade so she can stop borrowin' Maggie's'."

Abruptly, Carol stopped digging and stood, moving to the small vertical dresser in the corner of her cell, and tugged open the drawer. "Here," Carol turned, passing him another one, less chunky and definitely a bit more on the feminine side. "This one should suite her just fine. It was mine before I started carrying the heavy artillery," she smiled, lifting the corner of her shirt to show off her huge brass knuckled blade.

"Thanks," Daryl nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up in the tiniest hint of a smile. "See ya in the mornin'," he added, turning to leave before she could suck him into anymore small talk.

Heading back to the C Block, Daryl went straight for his room, tugging back his sheet and ducking inside his cell, he dropped his crossbow on his cot and the sheath on his desk, and immediately lit the lantern. The light flickered, illuminating his desk, and the plate of food that sat upon it. At first glance, he thought Carol had left it, and wondered why she hadn't mentioned it when he stopped by her cell. But then he noticed it -his folded handkerchief tucked neatly under the corner of the plate. _Beth_. Of course, it was Beth.

Pulling out his wobbly legged chair, Daryl dropped down and ran a hand through his still damp hair, the other reaching for a slice of whatever pink substance was on his plate. _Mmmm ham_. Rick and Hershel must've slaughtered a pig, and it was fucking delicious after all the rabbit and occasional deer they'd been eating. Too bad they hadn't come across any chickens yet ... Daryl finished off the ham and licked his fingers clean, enjoying the residual salty aftertaste, and washed it down with a swig of water, leaving the God forsaken rice untouched on his plate.

Daryl eyeballed the sheath, wondering where Beth was at. It would be so easy to just breeze on down to her cell, act as if he was just passing by, and ... _No_. But what if he ... _No_. And, no. _No! No! No!_ Her cell had been empty when he passed by on his way up to his own, anyway.

After mentally talking himself out of it at least a half a dozen times, Daryl grabbed the sheath, turned off his lantern and slipped out of his cell. _Fuck it_. He needed a cigarette anyway. If Beth happened to be outside ...

And somehow he _knew_ she would be, before he even pushed open the doors and stepped out into the courtyard -as if she was drawn to the spot, same as him. Shuffling so his feet made noise, and he could alert her to his presence, Daryl dug in his vest pocket for his smokes, adjusted his crossbow and started towards her.

"Hey Daryl," Beth greeted him with a smile, same one as always, that seemed to shoot right into his gut and warm him from the inside out, like clothing fresh from the dryer, or some poetic shit like that.

"Hey," he called back, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. He spared a look towards the fences before he sat down, noting that his reinforcements seemed to be holding well.

"Did ya like your ham?" She asked, tucking her knees up to her chest like she usually did, giving her the appearance of being smaller than she was.

"Hell yes," Daryl answered a little more enthusiastically than he intended, cleared his throat and then followed up with, "coulda done without the rice," in his usual, more sullen tone.

"When you're only eatin' one meal a day, ya should be eatin' the rice, too," she chastised him in her sing-song kinda way, taking the edge off of the criticism.

Daryl shrugged. He didn't have a good defense lined up for why he'd been skipping out on meals. It was kind of the same with sleeping -it just was what it was, and really it was just _that_ simple.

His fingers toyed with the sheath in his other hand, as he took another drag from his cigarette and flicked off the ashes. "Got somethin' for ya. It ain't much, but ... I know ya needed one ..." _Fuck, and he knew he sounded like a damn idiot._ "Here," he thrust out his hand, certain his face looked redder than one of Rick's ripened tomatoes, plucked straight from the vine.

"Oh Daryl," she tilted her head to the side, her blue eyes widening in excitement -even wider than usual, if that was even possible. But it _was_ -and bluer than the skies after a summer rain, they flickered over his hand as she carefully collected the blade sheath from his palm, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. "I love it," she breathed.

Holding it up to the moonlight to get a better look, Beth turned it this way and that, inspecting it like it was an expensive piece of jewelry. Daryl watched her, that warm tingly feeling spreading throughout his limbs again and pooling deep in his belly.

"It was Carols," Daryl shrugged. "But we can get you your own if-"

"It's perfect," Beth cut him off. "No one has given me a gift _just because_ in such a long time." She turned those brilliant blue eyes on him again, "thank you, Daryl. It means a lot."

Daryl nodded, mouth gaping open as her blue eyes burned into him until he felt forced to look away, unsure what to do otherwise. He inhaled another puff of his cigarette before flicking it away into the grass, as Beth suddenly hauled herself up from the ground, like a fire had been lit under her ass.

Excitedly, her hands flung to her belt, her fingers working the buckle, "Do the honors?" She asked. "Help me put it on?"

Pulling himself up to his knees, Daryl turned and took the sheath from her outstretched hand, as she jutted her hip out towards him. Noting that his fingers were a bit more shaky than he liked, and hoping she hadn't noticed, he reached for her belt, as Beth lifted the hem of her shirt up, revealing just a hint of the creamy white skin of her stomach. It was an innocent gesture, only meant to give him more room and the ability to actually _see_ what he was doing ... Daryl swallowed nervously, anyway, his fingers threading the sheath through her belt as quickly as he could manage, as he tried not to notice the smooth curve of her belly button or the way her stomach seemed to pulse as if her breathing had kicked up a notch - _like his_.

He could feel Beth's eyes on him, those blue orbs burning a hole through the top of his head, as he secured the sheath and started to thread her belt back through the loops on her jeans. Fingers that had always been sure and steady were suddenly clumsy and fumbling, as his knuckles accidentally grazed against her bare skin - _soft, so soft and as smooth as it looked_. Beth let out a gasp, sucking in a sharp breath, her stomach muscles clenching beneath him, as Daryl froze like a deer in headlights, his own breath suddenly trapped somewhere in his dry throat. The tingly warmth that had pooled in his gut was an inferno now, accelerating his heart rate until it pounded in his ears, and Daryl was grateful she couldn't see his face, and the beads of sweat that had suddenly broken out on his brow.

Muttering a string of curses under his breath, so foul, they would make a sailor blush, Daryl slid her belt through the last loop, and stood abruptly. Ears burning as hot as the fire roaring in his belly, he wrenched his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and turned away from her, needing some distance and trying to compose himself as he lit his smoke with trembling fingers. _And what in the actual fuck was wrong with him?_

Inhaling so deeply he actually coughed, Daryl exhaled through his nose, welcoming the pain as the smoke burned his nostrils on the way out and helped to clear his foggy head. Every instinct inside of him screaming at him to run, he swiped the sweat from his brow with his hand and contemplated his next move, because he sure as hell couldn't stand here with his back to her for much longer without looking like a bigger ass than he surely _already_ did.

Drawing the reserves of every ounce of courage he possessed, Daryl turned around to face her and walked unexpectedly right into Beth's embrace. Her arms slid around his waist as she tucked her head up under his chin, and not even fully recovered from their first ordeal, all Daryl could do was stand there stupidly, his hands resting limply on her elbows, cigarette burning away in his fingers. She didn't seem to mind though, and as the tension slowly ebbed from his body, Beth pulled back just a fraction of an inch, pressed herself up on her tip-toes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Daryl forced himself not to flinch and instead focused on the texture of her lips - _warm_ , and softer even than her skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of the scruff on his face. He dropped his hands from her elbows, as she stepped back from the circle of his arms and jerked her blade - _the one with the ivory handle that he'd given her_ , from the back pocket of her jeans and shoved it into the sheath. _A perfect fit_.

"It's perfect," her mouth voiced his thoughts as she beamed proudly up at him. "Thank you."

Daryl could only nod, as he flicked the wasted cigarette into the grass. If he even had a voice left to speak with, he sure as fuck didn't trust himself enough to talk. The last damn thing he needed tonight was to embarrass himself any further.

"Well, I better get back in and check on Judy. She'd not adjusting well to that new formula and she's been cranky," Beth explained as she started back towards the door. "Night Daryl," she threw over her shoulder, ponytail swinging and her hand resting over the blade at her hip.

* * *

Daryl sat, perched on his bunk, wishing he could stop his mind from looping over what an ass he'd made of himself earlier. Wishing he knew what the hell was going on or why he kept reacting to Beth the way he had been since that damn hug almost two weeks ago now. This was _Beth_ for fucks sake - the same girl he'd known for damn near going on two years. Hershel Greene's daughter and Maggie's baby sister ...

Daryl sighed, blowing out a ragged breath and leaned his head back against the wall as he chewed the corner of his thumb. He knew he should try and get some sleep -might even be his lack of sleep that had him acting so erratic lately, but the prospect of his dreams scared him far more than Beth and the odd way he'd been behaving.

A wail from below split the silence, echoing throughout the cell block for the third time since he'd come in from outside. Poor Judith. Daryl knew changing her formula so frequently was hard on her little stomach, but what choice did they have? They'd been lucky to even find enough to sustain her so far.

And poor Beth. If Judith wasn't sleeping, neither was she.

 _Well, that made three of them, then._

The crying stopped nearly as quickly as it had started, the cell block falling back into deafening silence. Daryl glanced up at the ceiling, checking to see if any new cracks had emerged, then over to his desk, knowing that he should probably turn his lantern off, but his bones felt like liquid jello, and he was loathe to move.

Couldn't waste the batteries, though. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, surprised to see Beth standing in the doorway to his cell, a half-sleeping ornery Judith tucked in her arms.

"I -I'm sorry," Beth stammered. "I saw your light on downstairs, and-"

Daryl raised his hand to silence her, and waved her into the room. "Nah, it's okay. I ain't sleepin' anyway."

Scooting back on his cot, Daryl placed one booted foot on the floor, and drew the other one up to prop his elbow on, making room for her and Judith on his bunk. He patted the thin mattress, indicating for Beth to sit down, as she padded softly into his room on bare feet. Her blonde hair was tucked into a messy high ponytail -higher than usual, the loose tendrils falling down to frame her face, as she regarded him with cloudy blue sleep deprived eyes.

Daryl held his hands out for Judith, and Beth eagerly complied, gently placing the fussy infant in his arms, then curled up on the foot of Daryl's cot and yawned. Judith protested momentarily, rubbing her tiny fists against her eyes like she was pissed that _they_ were disturbing _her_ sleep.

"Whatcha yellin' about sweetheart?" Daryl cooed at her, as her tiny fists went flailing again. "Ya gonna keep your Auntie Beth up all night?"

Judith grunted, chasing it with a burp, as Daryl laid her gently against his chest and patted softly on her back. He glanced down at Beth, tucked up in a little ball, eyes closed and already softly snoring. _This was not good_ , but since he was awake, he could soothe the baby and let her catch a little bit of shut eye before the prison started waking.

Daryl nuzzled against the soft tufts of hair on Judith's little head and inhaled her sweet baby scent. She grunted and burped a few more times until she was comfortable and soon she was snoring softly too. The tension seeping out of his body, Judith's little snores soothing Daryl's frayed nerves, he cast another glance towards his lantern, staring into the light until it blurred his vision. He really should get up and turn it off...

He heard it before he felt it. The whir of the leather, like the high pitched screeching wail of a harpy, bearing down on him, claws outstretched to rip the flesh at his back to shreds. In many ways, the anticipation hurt worst -until it didn't.

 _Crack_. The belt slammed into his back, the force so hard it knocked his hands out from under him, his jaw slamming hard into the dirty carpet below, scratching at his face. Daryl clenched his fists, biting back the urge to cry out ...but it got harder and harder every time.

 _Worthless lil piece of trash. Got yer ass in the air like ya wanna get fucked, boy! Ya like dick? Makes sense ya lil pussy ass piece of shit! That's why yer ma lit her own ass on fire ...ashamed of ya, boy! Shame! Shame! Shame!_

The first couple of lashes always hurt the most, until the numbness set in ...if he was lucky. _Whirrrr. Crack. Whirrr. Crack. Whirrr. Crack_. White hot pain exploded behind his eyes, and Daryl prayed for the numbness, but no such reprieve came.

He was there again, Daryl could feel his eyes upon him, still huddled terrified in the corner, his cheeks wet with the same tears streaming down his own face. He shuddered every time the belt smacked home, burying his face further into the sleeve of Merle's hand-me-down dinosaur pajamas.

Again, Daryl reached for him - arm outstretched, straining until he thought it would tear from its socket. _Take my hand_ , Daryl's voice called out to that boy -his younger self, but the boy refused, shaking his head profusely. _No, I'm afraid. You'll leave. They all leave_. Daryl cried out then, breaking his own rules, his cries of pain only fueling his father's reserve. The belt slammed down harder, over and over until Daryl could smell his own blood -copper polluting the air around him. The boys words shattered the very remnants of his soul ...sooner or later they _had_ all left him. Every last one of them.

 _Don't be afraid_ , he heard in his mind, drowning out the sound of his father's screaming to background noise, but it wasn't his own voice. Boots were all he could see amidst a blinding white light that erupted from nowhere, swallowing the blackness around him. _Boots_ -worn and brown, pointed toes and bright, bright light. _Am I dying?_ he thought, prayed for it even.

Suddenly, there were jeans attached to those boots -faded blue and holes worn out in the knees. Golden tendrils blowing in the light, her face hidden, she knelt down in front of that terrified little boy in the corner, coaxing him out and wrapping her arms around him. _Shhh don't be afraid_ , her voice soothed. _I'm not gonna_ _leave you._

Warmth, bright hot heat of a different kind, exploded around him, bathing him in that light and ...

Daryl's eyes flew open, blinking rapidly against the blinding light of the lantern, Judith still tucked against his chest. He squeezed them shut and opened them again, casting a glance to the foot of the bed where Beth lay -faded blue jeans torn at the knees, but her feet were bare where her worn brown cowboy boots with the pointed toes usually sat. She was still snoring softly, her hand now resting on his thigh, _warm_ , and the weight of it comforting - not uncomfortable. She was still here.

 _I'm not gonna leave you._

Carefully, as not to jostle them, Daryl turned and gently laid Judith down in the empty space between him and Beth and finally released a shaky breath. He should wake them, _he knew he should_ \- send Beth back to her own cell, every instinct warning him against letting them stay.

And Daryl ignored those instincts.

Shoving them somewhere to the back of his brain, he reached down to cover Beth's warm little hand with his own, and closed his eyes.

 **A/N:** **A quick note before we dive too deep into the story: I do realize that in season 4, we did have a doctor at the prison, but for narrative purposes, the only medics will be Hershel and Bob.**

 **If you have any questions about The Way Forward, or From the Ashes - feel forward to drop me an ask on Tumblr - kitten1618x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Notes at the end.**

 **Chapter 4 - Nobody But You Has To Hold On To The Fight**

 _Nobody but you has to, hold on to the fight,_

Just before you cry.

It won't change you, it won't change me,

And I don't even wonder why ...

"Knock Me Out" - Linda Perry

* * *

Beth stirred, her eyelids slowly fluttering open to unfamiliar settings in the predawn light streaming through the high barred prison windows overhead. It took her a moment to remember that she was in Daryl's cell, on Daryl's cot ...sleeping beside him ... _almost_ , had he not been sleeping sitting up. Judith was snuggled against her, sandwiched sideways between her and Daryl and still snoring softly, her little lips making sucking motions in her sleep. Apparently Daryl Dixon had a hidden talent for settling cranky babies. Beth wondered what other hidden talents he possessed, as a blush crept slowly into her cheeks, even though she hadn't meant it like _that_.

His large warm hand covered hers, pillowed on his thigh, and Beth's heart fluttered a little at the gesture -even if it was more than likely accidental. Adjusting her free arm more comfortably under her head, she left her hand tucked under his and let her eyes slowly roam over Daryl's sleeping form. Even in sleep, he looked so tense, worry etched deep within the planes of his face, as if he couldn't allow himself to fully relax even while his eyes were closed.

It hurt her heart, this beautiful man who was always working so hard to take care of everyone else, that he barely took care of himself.

 _And he was beautiful._

Like some magnificent photoshopped specimen plastered on the covers of the romance novels Mama had always chastised her for reading. All broad shoulders, sculpted muscles and rugged good looks, he could easily have been one of her storybook heroes. Except he wasn't make believe - he was very much the _real_ thing. A real life hero at the end of the world.

Daryl had become their de-facto leader of sorts, since Rick had taken a step back from Ricktatorship, his primary focus now on sustaining them in a different way with the help of her Daddy. And certainly no one would begrudge him that -they'd have never even gotten this far if it weren't for Rick Grimes and the sacrifices he'd made for them. That's why the Council had been formed, to help delegate the workload and decision making, but Beth knew Daryl still shouldered most of the burden -even if that was mostly of his own doing.

Before Rick and Daddy's crops had even begun to root, he was out hunting and scavenging for them all winter long. They wouldn't have eaten half the time, if not for Daryl, and yet he was always the last one to eat -if he even ate at all. Pulling fence duty when it wasn't even his turn, organizing and going on all of the runs -alone or otherwise, and while even though he never wrote their requests down, he always seemed to remember what everyone had asked for ...always brought it back for them eventually.

And he did all of it - _every single thing_ , without any complaints.

A twinge of guilt ripped through Beth's belly, knowing that she would only be piling more strain onto those beautiful broad shoulders when she finally asked Daryl for the secret favor she'd been harboring over the last week. Even though it wasn't directly for her -she was almost sure he wouldn't refuse her because of the misplaced guilt she knew he still carried for Zach. It was wrong of her, she knew, to exploit that guilt, especially since it wasn't in any way Daryl's fault for what had happened.

And maybe while that's the way it had originally started, it was different _now_. She had genuinely enjoyed every second that they had spent together since he started taking her along daily to check the snares. Teaching her better ways to properly protect and defend herself so she didn't always have to be so reliant on others, and trusting her fully now to reset the snares without supervision. It was that trust that she treasured above all -that Daryl didn't make her _feel_ like _just another dead girl_ in need of his protection -although she knew it was there if she required it.

The truth of it was, Daryl Dixon was the only one she felt she could trust with the delicate nature of this ... _favor_. First and foremost, because he trusted in _her_ and _that_ was important. Secondly, Beth knew he would never betray her confidence, and thirdly, because he was the only one besides Rick that she trusted irrefutably with her life. She was sure he would understand once she explained it to him ...and if he refused, she now felt much more confident that she could go on her own.

Beth hoped it didn't come to that, though. And truthfully, the prospect of spending several hours alone with Daryl set the butterflies in her stomach fluttering anew. She couldn't deny it any longer ...she was definitely carrying a bit of a torch for Daryl Dixon, and his kindness towards her lately had only been stoking those little embers into full blown flames -an unintentional consequence of their newly developed and somewhat unlikely friendship.

She never imagined that this is where they'd end up, that day she'd thrown her arms around him -the day he came to her cell to tell her that Zach was gone. Daryl had just looked so lost after giving her the news, as if he expected her to lash out or blame him for something that required no blame on anyone's part. Bad things happened to the people they loved -and it was gut wrenching and heartbreaking, but assigning blame never brought anyone back, and Beth had long ago accepted that. All they could do was make the best of what they still had left in this life, and that, was each other.

She was grateful that she had gotten to know Zach, but she was also grateful that Daryl and everyone else had returned home alive that day. And when she had wrapped her arms around him, and he stiffened like he wasn't sure what to do ... _that_ broke her heart. That's when she made the decision to befriend Daryl Dixon, whether he liked it or not. Only, she truly never imagined he would want her friendship. Even now, she wasn't sure if all he was doing was tolerating her ...out of some warped sense of guilt.

 _And that brought them full circle. Ugh!_

But she _was_ here now, in his cell, little Judith the only barrier between them. And he _had_ come to her that night she was crying in the prison yard ... And right _now_ his hand was resting upon hers -the same hand that had brushed against the bare skin of her belly last night, stealing her breath away and quickening the pace of her heart until she was sure it was going to burst right through her chest. The same heart that was beating erratically right now, just thinking about it.

 _Stop it_. Her rational side buzzed in her ear, dragging her back to reality. She could not let the silly little crush she was nursing distract her from what was important, nor cause her to start imagining _something_ up from nothing at all. Daryl had been kind to her, and he had been there for her _because he was a good man_ -nothing more and nothing less.

The shadows around the room were starting to take shape now, as the sun began to rise, and Beth knew she should take Judith and go before the prison started waking ...spare them both the awkwardness of being caught together -innocent as it was, people would draw their own conclusions. She blew out a sigh and closed her eyes. She would go, _she would_ ...but just a few minutes more ...

Beth hadn't even realized she had been softly rubbing Daryl's thigh until she stopped, and felt the stroke of his thumb on the inside of her wrist -so gentle, the slightest of touches. She held her breath, suddenly very aware of the heat of his body - it radiated up from her fingertips and spread throughout her, pooling in her stomach like warm molasses. Afraid she might have just imagined it, she spread her fingers out, then slowly curled them back in -and there it was again, the soft flick of his thumb against the sensitive underside of her wrist. No ...she was not imagining this ... and her rational side be damned.

Beth finally released the breath she'd been holding in and let her eyes fall open again. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see, but certainly not Daryl's own blue gaze penetrating through the hazy pre-morning light and pinning her straight into the thin worn out mattress at her back. Beth forced herself to swallow, suddenly nervous as hell and croaked out, "Mornin'," when her voice finally decided to cooperate with her.

"Mornin' Beth," he rasped back at her, sending that molasses in her stomach straight to boiling. Something about the way he said her name, all husky and laced with sleep, had her clenching her thighs tightly together, and sent a rush of heat seeping into her cheeks. _And thank the Lord it was still fairly dark and he couldn't see how pink she surely was!_

"Sleep well?" She whispered the question, slowly curling her fingers against his thigh again. It was brazen as hell, and she wasn't sure where she got the sudden burst of courage, but her curiosity prompted her to see if he would continue to reciprocate this ... _whatever the hell this was_ , while her eyes were on him.

"Better than usual," Daryl answered with a nonchalant shrug, his fingers twitched above her hand, but his thumb remained still. He paused a moment, as if contemplating saying something important, then sighed, "Ya should get goin' before everyone wakes up."

Beth's heart sunk, so quickly it nearly stole her breath again, but she knew he was right. _Ugh, why did he have to be right?_ "Yeah," she nodded in agreement, and although a twinge of disappointment worked its way into her belly, that he had stopped reciprocating her touch, she made no effort to move.

Neither did he, and suddenly she didn't really give a damn if anyone saw her up here. They weren't doing anything wrong ...but she knew Daryl cared, and _that_ mattered to her, so reluctantly, she slid her hand from its warm little cocoon, and sat up.

Daryl followed her lead, rising from the bed and pushing his arms up high over his head as he stretched the stiffness and sleep out of his muscles. Beth couldn't help noticing how his shirt rode up on his stomach, or the little patch of hair on his lower abdomen, that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

"Same time today?" She asked, tearing her gaze away before he noticed her standing there ogling him. She carefully gathered Judith up in her arms, and hugged her little sleeping form against her chest, burying her flushed cheeks in the baby's peach fuzz.

"Can't today," Daryl shook his head no. "Gotta clean up all the dead piled up on the fence before it becomes a problem. Was thinking maybe Michonne could go with you?"

Beth's heart sunk even further. "Oh ...okay," she mumbled, trying to mask her disappointment in a casual tone of voice, but wasn't sure she was very successful. It should have made her feel good that Daryl was still trusting her to go and check the snares without him ...but it didn't. Not really.

Beth turned to leave his cell, lifting the sheet, she peered out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, when Daryl's warm hand closed around her shoulder. She turned abruptly, startling a little from the unexpected contact.

"Come see me again later?" He asked. It wasn't really a request, and Beth sensed a bit of urgency in his voice. "Got somethin' important to tell ya," he offered in somewhat of an explanation, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and if she hadn't been studying them, she probably would have never noticed.

"Okay," Beth agreed with a nod, and _her_ smile was clearly visible. Nodding once again, she ducked under his sheet, and quietly padded down the corridor.

The prison was still thankfully silent, all the curtains she passed remained closed, even some snores carried out to her ears, as she took to the stairs quickly, flinching when the grates dug into the soles of her bare feet. She held her breath as she skirted past Daddy and Rick's cells, not releasing it until she was safe behind her own curtain.

Judith was beginning to stir, as Beth laid her gently in the center of her cot, and pulled her sleep rumpled tank top up over her head, tossing it in the corner with the rest of her dirty laundry. Quietly sliding open the three drawer filing cabinet that served as her dresser, Beth dug for a clean shirt, frowning at everything her fingers touched - faded, torn, stained, worn thin and threadbare. It was silly to want to look nice, considering their circumstances, but it was one of the more simple things that she missed. Pulling the tags off of a brand new blouse, or the smell of a new pair of shoes fresh out of the box -wearing pretty floral dresses to keep cool in the hot Georgia sun ...

There was a time not so long ago, although it felt like ages now, that Beth absolutely _hated_ clothes shopping, and Mama, Patricia and even Maggie had to do _everything_ short of threatening her life, to get her in the car. It was rather ironic that now, she might actually consider selling her soul for an unopened pack of socks, or a pair of panties that didn't belong to whoever's drawers were raided on the next run. Beth sighed and settled on a faded pink colored cotton tank. At some point it _had_ been pretty, with lace and floral embroidery along the collar, but now it was just a few steps away from being a rag.

Tugging the ponytail out of her hair, Beth unweaved the braid and dragging her fingers through her tousled waves, managed to comb them out and pull them back into what she hoped was a more put together look. It was times like this she supposed she should be thankful that she didn't have a mirror to see what a mess she surely looked.

Judith was fully awake now, chewing her fist and watching Beth with curious blue-green eyes, as she sat down on the cot beside her and tickled her belly. "You hungry, Miss Jude?" She asked the wide eyed baby as she tugged on some clean socks, and then her boots. "Bet you're swimming in that diaper by now, huh?"

"You decent, Doodlebug?" Daddy's voice inquired from outside her curtain.

"Yeah Daddy," Beth replied, already working the tabs of Judith's diaper free. "Can you grab me a diaper?"

And so it went, their typical prison morning routine. Beth changing Judith, then handing her over to Rick, who always gave her a bottle before heading out to feed the livestock with Daddy. Somewhere in D Block, Carol was probably already on her way to the cafeteria to get breakfast started, while people were starting to stir and dress. The first shift of fence duty would start soon, Beth's shift, and Carl would stumble out of his cell any minute now, his eyes puffy from staying up half the night reading comic books, to watch Judith while she stabbed rotting corpses through the chainlink fence -and _all_ before breakfast.

Maybe it wasn't the best life, _hell_ -probably not even what you could consider good, but it was _her_ life, and she was _alive_. And while sometimes it felt positively stifling, everyone living all clustered and on top of one another, it was better than running from one place to the next, not able to even rest your eyes for fear of having your throat torn out while you slept. The prison resembled stability -probably the closest they were going to come to normalcy for a long while, and the daily trips outside of the prison were helping to squelch that overwhelming feeling that had been chewing away at her guts since Zach had died.

And just what that feeling was? Beth didn't really have a name for it. Maybe it didn't need a label ...maybe it just was ... But it clawed at her, that emptiness. Feeling like she was missing something -feeling like she was missing _a lot_ of things. Truthfully, she _was_ missing a lot of things. Things that hadn't mattered much to her before -when she felt she had her whole life ahead of her. But now, their very daily existence was an uncertainty -and it was that same uncertainty that had begun to fuel her urgency to reach out and grasp the things she felt she _should_ experience before her time was up.

 _Living and not just surviving_. Because she was _alive_ , dammit. She had made her choice that day back at the farm, and she _chose_ life.

And if she were being honest, these feelings had started long before Zach had died. Long before he and his shiny black mustang with a handful of survivors had shown up at the prison, even. Zach, with his boyish good looks, always trying to make her laugh or impress her in some show of macho prowess. She enjoyed the attention he gave her -enjoyed being flirted with and feeling attractive again. She had even grown to care for him over the months they'd spent together. But ...she did not love him.

She tried to, though. Silly as that sounded now, in the aftermath. Even though he had been her first -succumbing to eager groping hands and muffled moans in his cell one night, thinking that maybe that would help evoke a deeper feeling from her -but it didn't. She had no regrets, though. Didn't have time for them, really. Sex was something she had wanted to experience _before_ ...before her time ran out. She just had always imagined it would feel _better_ than it had, and she blamed all those _damn romance novels_ for that.

"Well look who slept past the sunrise," Rick's teasing southern drawl pulled Beth from her thoughts, her head turning to see who he was addressing.

"Best sleep I had in awhile," Daryl grumbled in reply, his boots moving almost soundlessly on the grated metal steps.

He hadn't looked at her when he said it, hadn't given any indication that it was due to her -in fact, _one would assume quite the opposite beings that she and Judith had invaded his bed_ -but Beth decided to take it as a compliment, the butterflies in her stomach beating their wings against her insides, again.

As predicted, Carl wandered out of his cell, feet dragging and face hidden by the wide brim of Rick's sheriff hat, as Maggie came bursting into the cell block.

"We've got a problem," she informed them, through panting breaths, winded from running hard. "Come quick," she urged them, already turning and on her way back out the door.

And just like that, the morning routine was broken, as only an emergency would dictate, as they all followed her outside, converging with Carol, Sasha, Tyreese and Glenn in the courtyard. Michonne was already down at the fence, stabbing at growling Walkers as fast as she could manage -which was nowhere near fast enough.

"Shit," Daryl and Rick seemed to both mumble simultaneously, as they took off running towards the pile up of Walkers pushing on the fence, Glenn and Tyreese on their heels.

"If not for your reinforcements yesterday, the fence would have completely buckled," Carol yelled ahead to Daryl, her and Maggie not far behind.

Quickly scooping up their handmade spears and other random "fence duty" devices, they began to stab the Walkers, taking them down as quickly as possible. This seemed to only counteract their intent, as the ones behind just moved in closer, pushing up harder on the already straining chain links.

Beth stopped herself from breaking into a run, turning to help assist her father on the loose gravel so he wouldn't lose his footing, but he waved her away, taking slow deliberate steps. "Go on Bethy, give them a hand," he nodded, as she took off into the fray.

She ran past the group, amongst an array of muffled curses and grunts of exertion, her worn boots skidding on the stones, grabbing up a weapon of her own. Hooting and hollering and making all the noise she could muster, Beth kept running, finding a sturdier length of fence and began banging her crowbar, clanging it loudly against the fence and hoping her plan of action worked and didn't just make a fool of her.

Sasha immediately caught on to what she was doing, and began joining in, luring the Walkers down towards Beth who was stabbing them as they came her way. "Spread 'em out!" She yelled, directing the others to do the same.

Beth wasn't sure how long she ran the length of the fence, drawing and stabbing Walkers, could have been minutes, but it felt like hours before they were finally reduced to a manageable number. Her chest heaving, she stepped back to take a breather, propping her crowbar on the adjoining fence, and made her way to where Daddy was standing with Carl and Judith.

"Quick thinking Doodlebug," he praised her, giving her a loving pat on the shoulder.

"It most certainly was," Carol agreed, swiping the sweat from her brow as she came to stand beside them. "I guess the Council meeting's cancelled today."

"We're having it now," Hershel replied. "Seems this is our most pressing matter."

When all that was left were a few stragglers, they clustered around Hershel, deciding the next best course of action. Daryl, mumbling something about getting the truck, shouldered his crossbow and headed back towards the prison.

"I'm gonna join the cleanup crew," Carol announced. "Beth, do you think you can throw together lunch in my place today?"

"Sure she can," Hershel offered for her, his eyes settling on Beth's then flicking quickly to Maggie's form, and back to Beth again, and she understood, even before he said his next words. "Maggie can give her a hand."

"Daddy I can be more useful here," Maggie protested.

"You've done more than enough, and you've got more than just yourself to worry about now," Hershel was reasonable as always, but his tone was stern, as his eyes settled down to her still-flat stomach. Swollen or not, she was still carrying precious cargo, and with a somewhat annoyed roll of her shoulders, Maggie reluctantly agreed.

"Carl, why don't you hold Judith for me, and come give us a hand too?" Beth suggested, bending to place Judith into his arms before he could even answer. She knew that Rick tried keeping him away from the _dirty_ work as much as possible now, in his campaign for Carl to be the kid that he _ought_ to be. He would still let him man the gate and keep watch occasionally, but for the most part, _his part_ in killing Walkers and handling weapons was only supposed to be out of necessity for safety outside of the fences.

 _And_ she knew, he wouldn't turn her down.

Wrapping her arm around her big sister, Beth started back towards the prison, taking note of the relief on Glenn's face that Daddy had managed to talk her out of the strenuous labor she always insisted in partaking. It was something she always admired about Maggie -she got things done. Didn't matter that she was a woman -anything they could do, she could do better ...and if not, she was damn sure going to try. And whether or not she saw it in herself, Maggie was a born leader, with plenty of practice bossin' her and Shawn around their whole lives.

As they cut across the courtyard, they passed by Daryl, loading gas cans into the back of the beat-up old Chevy truck they used to haul things, his handkerchief already tied around his face so that only his eyes were visible. He didn't look up as they walked by, and whether that was deliberate, or he was that intent on his work, Beth could only guess, and wonder at the twinge of disappointment that worked its way into her belly.

By the time they'd reached the kitchen, she had already shrugged it off. Daryl had a job to do -they all did, and it was time to get to work. Besides, he _had_ asked her to come see him again ...later.

Quickly straightening up the mess that Carol had made on her hasty departure earlier, Beth opened up the little mini fridge -one of the few things that ran on the generator they had, and browsed their selections. Fuel was a precious commodity, but so was preserving the meat they _did_ have, for as long as safely possible. Everything had to be stretched, and they wasted very little -if anything at all.

"Well, we have ham, or ham?" Beth smiled, pulling out the leftover cooked ham that hadn't been rationed out for dinner last night. Carol had more than likely intended on using it for her breakfast concoction anyway.

"Don't matter," Maggie shrugged. "Let's just cook somethin', I'm starvin'," she cried dramatically, digging through the canned goods for a side dish, and producing three large cans of baked beans.

"Really?" Beth asked, eyeing the beans distastefully.

"What else goes good with pork? Not like we're gonna be having hot dogs any time soon. Besides, I'm pretty sure you ain't supposed to say no to a pregnant woman," Maggie teased.

"Is that your excuse to get your way now?" Beth rolled her eyes just as dramatically, as she begun cranking open the cans with the hand held can opener and poured their contents into a large two handled cooking pot. She had begun slicing the ham when Judith started fussing and Carl ducked out to put her down for her afternoon nap.

"It's too hot in here," Maggie complained, plucking a carrot from the table where they kept the fresh produce from Rick and Daddy's crops, and began chomping on it obnoxiously.

"Should we cook outside?" Beth suggested, already packing her sliced meat back into the storage container, and handing it to her sister so she could carry the large pot of the beans that she really didn't want.

Carl met them in the corridor, holding the metal door open for them as they exited the prison, then ran up ahead so he could light the huge handmade grill that Glenn and Daryl had constructed from concrete and brick. In a matter of minutes, the smells of grilled ham and baked beans hung in the air around them, drawing the Woodbury people outside. Some of them sitting at the picnic tables to wait, others helping to disperse any more of the dead that had wandered to the fences.

Daryl's clean-up crew consisted of Rick, Carol, Michonne, Glenn and Tyreese -with Sasha and Bob keeping watch while they worked, and Daddy directing the ones helping inside the fences. Beth and Maggie had already begun to dish out the food when they started dragging the unmoving dead to the bed of the truck -loading them up so they could burn them farther out in the field, away from the fences, in case the flames enticed more of them. The Georgia sun was unmerciful, beating down on them from above, and it was only going to get hotter.

"We should take them some water," Beth suggested handing someone a plate of food, and then another, as fast as Maggie was dishing it out. Still staring distractedly out into the field, Beth turned to hand the next person a plate, and accidentally bumped right into a scowling Lenore, spilling a bit of baked beans onto her low-cut tank top.

"Hey! What the hell's your problem?" She demanded, red faced and swiping the beans off of her top.

"I -I'm sorry," Beth stammered, taken aback by her rudeness and overreaction to an apparent accident.

" _She_ doesn't have a problem," Maggie snapped from behind Beth, sharp tone and a warning look in her eyes, daring Lenore to say anything else.

She took the hint, snapping her mouth closed and biting back any retort that might have been perched on the tip of her tongue. Grabbing the plate non to gently from Beth's hands, she stomped away and took a seat at one of the picnic tables.

"Don't you pay her no mind Bethy," Maggie said, transitioning instantly to a softer tone. "She's just jealous because she's been tryin' to get her claws in Daryl for months, and you're takin' up all his time lately. Here," she nudged the next plate towards her.

Beth took the plate "W-what are you takin' about?" She asked, her heart rate ticking up a notch. She could feel the blush creeping up from her neck and shoot straight into her cheeks until the tips of her ears burned. _Was she being that obvious?_

"Oh relax," Maggie rolled her eyes, stirring what was left of the beans now that everyone had been served. "I didn't mean it like _that_. Its just ... its about time Daryl found a friend ...long overdue." Reaching for the carrot she was _still_ nursing that she swiped from the kitchen, she chomped into again, "Besides, ain't a fella in Georgia that could resist the charms of Bethany Elizabeth Greene," she teased, pretending to swoon with a wicked grin and a mouth full of carrot.

Stifling a giggle, Beth playfully shoved at her shoulder, intent on scolding her, "Cut it out, Margaret Fran-"

"Don't you dare!" Maggie cut her off, throwing the rest of her carrot at her and laughing, "You brat."

"You started it," Beth tossed back, truly enjoying their tit for tat. She missed the days where she could be carefree and easy with her big sister, but moments like that were few and far between nowadays. Taking over the stirring of the beans, she scooped some on a plate for Maggie, who despite all of her protests of hunger, had yet to actually eat.

Maggie wrinkled her nose, "I'm not really hungry anymore. Should save it for them anyway," she nodded towards the fences.

Beth followed her line of vision, watching as Rick waved the truck back for the last load of Walkers, Daryl behind the wheel. He hopped out, helping Glenn hoist the corpse he was dragging into the bed of the pick-up, both of them turning to Rick for direction, and Rick giving it. He slipped back into the leader roll quick and effortlessly when crisis required it, but Beth knew when the task at hand was taken care of, and the current crisis averted, he'd slip back into the farmer roll _just_ as easily. Daddy said all he really needed to do was find a happy medium, but it wasn't up to any of them to push him -he had to figure that out on his own.

As they dragged the last few bodies away from the buckling portion of the fence, Rick bent down, a frown on his face as he yelled for Daryl and the others. Beth raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, as one by one they surrounded him, and she linked her free arm through Maggie's as they moved closer to find out what was going on.

"What is it?" Maggie asked, as they came up behind Daddy.

"Rats," Glenn answered her, looking up from the other side of the fence. "Stuck in between the links."

"So someone was feeding them?" Sasha asked in disbelief -because really, _who would do such a thing?_

"Looks that way," Rick squinted up at them through the sun, rising and wiping the blood from his hands onto his jeans. "The question is, what side of the fence were they on?"

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so a couple of notes here. Yes, I am using rats in the fence, but I am going an entirely different route than the show - just wanted to throw that out there right away. The only simularity is, yes - someone is feeding the Walkers rats. _dunn dunn dunn._ lol**

 **I just have to say, I _adore_ the Greene sisters, and I  love when they are loving to each other, and I truly wish the tv show would have given us more of that, so I like to imagine that this is the kind of stuff that happened "off screen". **

**As for Beth and Maggie's full names - yeah, I'm taking a little creative license here. My friend and I always wondered if Beth was a Bethany or an Elizabeth -or just simply Beth? So, now she's all three! lol**

 **I know this wasn't a very Bethyl filled romantic chapter, but there is plenty coming up in the next couple of chapters - plus, it's a slow burn you guys! lol Xoxo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - My Hands Are Small I Know ...And, I Am Never Broken**

 _My hands are small I know_ ,

But they're not yours,

They are my own,

 _And, I am never broken_.

"Hands" -Jewel

* * *

Beth watched the fire, her fingers curled through the links of the fence, transfixed by the dancing of the flames, as the bodies burned away to ashes in the field. She hated this part, although she knew it was necessary -they _only_ buried their own. When the dead far outnumbered the living, it was the only sensible solution, but these were people once ...before _this_ -before they were monsters, and it was important to remember that, too. So, tracing the sign of the cross over her heart, she whispered a quick prayer up to the sky, that whoever they were, they were at peace now.

As Beth had predicted, the Georgia sun was cruel and relentless today, beating down on the group as they worked tirelessly. They had accepted some bottled water through the fence, but that was hours ago, and the water long gone by now. Sweated out of them too, by the looks of it, as they were all drenched.

They'd been out there for hours, and she had tried unsuccessfully to get them to stop for a bit and have a bite to eat, but they continued to work on. Now, constructing spike strips from the materials that they _did_ have readily available -which wasn't much on such short notice. Similar to the ones that flanked the front gate, these spikes would eventually be laid along the entire perimeter of the fence. It would take awhile and plenty of extra resources -but for now it was most important to fortify the weak portion, so the Walkers wouldn't be able to pile up on it again. Rats or not.

After helping her clean up the lunch leftovers, Maggie had resumed her usual perch up in the watch tower she shared with Glenn - _or_ , their love nest, as Beth called it. Shouldering her rifle, she peered down the scope, keeping an eye out for anything more than a few wanderers, Glenn's baseball cap tucked tight on her head to shield her from the blinding sun. She'd call down every now and then, alerting Sasha and Bob to what was coming their way.

Beth shifted Judith on her hip, pressing her lips to the baby's temple and adjusted the sun bonnet on her head, as Daryl paused and looked up from what he was hammering, and their eyes met. _Briefly_ , but Beth still felt the weight of his gaze, settling deep inside her with those silly fluttering of butterfly wings. _Soon_ it would be _later_ , and she could find out what it was that he wanted to share with her. And it was also time, she decided, to ask him for her favor.

While mulling over how to bring it up, she continued to watch Daryl work, fascinated by the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders, bunching and flexing as he hammered away at his task, driving the smaller branch-like spears into the the log base. Carol, right beside him, sharpening the ends of the ones he'd already wedged into place to fine, lethal points. Michonne and Rick were a few paces away, working together similarly on their own log, while Glenn and Tyreese carved out the branches that would become the spears.

"I brought the water," Carl called from behind her, startling her from her thoughts, his voice breathless from running. His arms were full of refilled water bottles, cooled from the fridge.

She had stuffed them in any open spot she could find in the fridge, making room where she could, while putting away the lunch leftovers. It was a luxury they didn't waste the little electricity they _did_ have on, but today, working hours in the hot sun with no respite _made_ it a necessity, as far as she was concerned.

"Thanks Carl," she smiled down at him, not missing the way he puffed up a bit while returning the smile. He was such a sweet boy, despite the hardness he carried around in his heart -an unfortunate victim of circumstances. Yet, weren't they all?

"See that they drink those, okay?" She directed him. "I'm gonna go check on my Dad."

With a quiet nod, Carl called through the fence, as Beth adjusted Judith once more, and started up the path towards the prison. Getting her father to go inside and get out of the heat for awhile was no easy task, and Beth knew it bothered him that his leg hindered his ability to be more helpful. He was a proud man -a man who spent his entire life working the land, _his land_ -even before it was passed down to him. Providing, and _he_ the provider -not the other way around, and reduced now to feeling like a burden, after losing that very land he had cultivated his entire life.

But Daddy's wisdom was priceless. A gift she knew that was treasured by _all_ who inhabited the prison -by anyone who came into his orbit, really. And she'd have him with no limbs at all, if it meant that he'd be here just that much longer -and thanks to Rick's quick thinking and Lori and Carol's quick and capable caring hands, he was.

She found him sitting at the round table in their cell block, papers spread out before him, his bible sitting on the empty chair beside him, as he seldom went anywhere without it. He greeted her with a smile, as she set Judith down gently by a pile of her red solo cups.

"Hey Doodlebug. Just going over what we'll need to finish the spikes for the fence. How is everything going out there?" He asked her.

"It's hot," she sighed, dragging her forearm against her hairline to wipe the sweat from her brow. "They're almost done, far as I can tell."

"You didn't come in to spy on me, did you?" Hershel asked, his bushy eyebrows drawing together as he teased her with an accusatory look.

"No Daddy," Beth smiled sweetly down at him, bending to kiss the furrow right out of his brow. "With Carol's hands still full, I figured I'd get supper started, clean those rabbits."

Michonne had gone off on her own to check and reset the snares before anyone had even realized she was gone. A pitiful haul today - only two small cottontails, but it was better than nothing. The problem was that sometimes the Walkers got to them before they did.

"Well go on then," Daddy urged her. "Judith can keep me company until Carl wanders back in."

And so she did, making her way to the kitchen, and already dreading the added heat that cooking would produce. She eyed the high barred windows distastefully, knowing that even if there was a way to open them, there was no cool breeze to be found today. Perhaps no one would mind a cold meal tonight? There was still a hefty chunk of cooked ham leftover, and as she eyed their kitchen stash and Daddy and Rick's harvested vegetables, an idea struck her.

Plucking two cucumbers, two green peppers, two tomatoes and a handful of green onions from the table, she laid them on the counter and fired up the little propane powered cast iron hot plate. Grabbing the large two handled pot she'd used earlier for the beans, she broke the seal on one of their scavenged bottles of water, reserved for cooking, and poured it into the pot, then began chopping vegetables while she waited for it to boil.

Memories began to wash over her as she continued cutting the vegetables to bite sizes -of floral aprons and counter tops covered with ingredients that would make their picnic feast. Of Mama's record player blaring oldies down the hallway, and smells of home cooked country goodness filling the air. Of Shawn sneaking bites of food, and Patricia shooing him out the back door to help Daddy and Otis light the barbecue. She and Maggie had always sneaked bites too, Mama just pretended not to notice.

She could almost _feel_ the joy ... _hear_ the music -sometimes Buddy Holly or maybe Roy Orbison, but her favorite record was always the upbeat sounds of Dion singing about a Runaround Sue. She'd prance around the kitchen, jitterbugging with Maggie, and then Daddy would burst in and swing her around like she was weightless, spinning her until she was dizzy with laughter, before moving on to Maggie, Mama and sometimes even Patricia.

Without even realizing it, her hips began to sway to the music in her mind, as she scooped the vegetables up and tossed them into the biggest serving bowl she could find. Spinning around in a circle, as she hummed the tune to Runaround Sue, she danced her way to the boiling pot of water and emptied two boxes of pasta, then slid across the floor, her boots squeaking on the tiles beneath her feet.

"She likes to travel around, yeeeaaahhhhh, she'll love you and she'll put you down -now people let me put you wise, Sue goesssss out with other guys," she belted out the lyrics, plucking a bottle of Italian salad dressing off of the metal shelf, she sang into the cap like a microphone, snapping her fingers in tune with the taps of her booted feet, "Whoaaaa!"

Startling from the sudden pressure on her arm, Beth snapped her mouth closed -but it was only Daddy's gentle touch. Still strong and sure as he'd ever been, he drew her into the circle of his arms and twirled her around -more slowly and a bit more clumsy than her memories, but that mattered very little.

His hand on her back, Daddy guided her, wobbly, but still graceful enough not to step on her toes. "Hey, hey, umm da-ditty-ditty, hey, hey," He sang backup - _and quite out of tune_ , encouraging her to continue.

"Here's the moral and the story from the guy who knows, I fell in love and my love still grows, ask any fool that she ever knew -they'll say keep away from a runaround Sue," she sang along with him, happy tears pricking her eyes and her smile bigger than the entire state of Georgia, as Daddy danced her around the kitchen.

"Guard your memories Bethy," He whispered as he released her. "They'll keep you going long after you think you can't."

It was then that Beth realized they weren't alone in the kitchen. She blushed crimson from head to toe, as she turned to their audience of Carol, Daryl and Rick. Rick cleared his throat, the traces of a smile still evident on his bearded face, and Carol beamed openly, but Daryl's features were guarded and unreadable -which only served to embarrass Beth more, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

"Just makin' pasta salad," she mumbled, reaching for a dishtowel so she could lift the pot and drain the noodles.

"We just came for the rest of the cold water," Rick said.

"So it's done?" Hershel asked.

Rick nodded. "What we could do." He skirted past Beth draining the noodles over the sink, and jerked open the mini fridge, passing the cold bottled water to Carol. "We'll need to cut down more trees. Assemble a team to do it, and maybe teach some of the Woodbury people how to make the spikes so they can help us, and we can get it done faster."

Hershel nodded back. "Good idea." Daddy rarely disagreed when Rick was in Leader form -his ideas were usually good ones.

"Daryl thinks we should dig some pits too," Carol added. "Its past time we fortify this place right. The fences protect us from Walkers -just barely. But we're still vulnerable to other threats."

She didn't have to say what those _other threats_ were -Beth remembered how easily the Governor had tore through the front gates before they had fortified them. The comforts they'd created for themselves over the months since they'd driven him off were important, but so was ensuring their safety. Daryl was right, and Daddy basically said just as much, as if he'd been rolling around in her thoughts.

"I got somethin' to do tomorrow, but I can start diggin' after that," Daryl offered.

"What's that?" Carol asked, handing him a bottle of water.

He didn't answer -instead twisting the cap off of his water bottle and bringing it to his lips to drain greedily. When he was finished, the conversation had already shifted on to the next order of business -which was their crops that still needed to be checked and watered today, as Carl had already fed the livestock earlier.

Beth half tuned out while she added her now drained noodles to the serving bowl with the vegetables and then emptied the bottle of Italian dressing into the bowl. She could feel Daryl's eyes on her, watching as she stirred the contents of her salad, burning a blush into her cheeks again. She too, wondered what that _something_ was that he had to do tomorrow, and hoped it wouldn't interfere with them checking the snares together, as today had.

Her task completed, she eased the giant bowl into the fridge, forcing the door shut, and moved on to the two pathetic rabbits -grateful that Michonne had already removed their heads. So involved in her task of skinning and gutting the bunnies over the sink, she hadn't even realized that most of the kitchens inhabitants had moved on, leaving only her and Daryl behind. He was so quiet, if not for _feeling_ his gaze settled heavily upon her, she wouldn't have even known he was there.

"There anything you can't do?" He asked her, his raspy voice just above a whisper, breaking the silence.

 _A compliment from Daryl Dixon_. And with it came a surge of pride.

Beth smiled, knowing she was blushing yet again, as she could feel the heat of it right to the tips of her ears -and grateful that her back was to him, so he couldn't see the affect he was having on her. "I can't shoot a crossbow," she shrugged, trying to sound casual.

"Yet," Daryl replied.

Beth dropped the rabbit she was working on and turned, but he had already slipped away silently.

* * *

Night had come, bringing with it no relief from the sweltering Georgia heat -even fresh from the shower, she felt like she was already sweating. It would be a brutal summer ahead, if this warm spring was any indication.

Shrugging out of the over-sized t-shirt she had used to conceal her nakedness on the way back from the shower, Beth slid open her makeshift filing cabinet dresser drawer and dug for something light and comfortable to wear to bed. Settling on a tank top and a worn pair of sweatpants that had been cut off into shorts, she quickly dressed herself, rolling the waistband of the shorts so they stayed up on her hips.

She had always been thin, but not gaunt to the point that her hip bones protruded. Lifting the tank top up, Beth ran her hand down the flat planes of her belly, understanding now what Mama had meant about there being such a thing as _too thin_ when she'd gone through her body self-hate phase at fourteen. It certainly wasn't for _not_ eating -present circumstances, Beth thought they ate quite well, considering at one point they had been willing to eat canned dog food. Still, she knew the lack of protein and low calorie consumption was the reason she hadn't had a regular period in almost three seasons -which is why it was a miracle that Maggie had conceived at all.

Sitting on the edge of her cot, Beth waited impatiently for the prison to settle. Dragging her fingers through her still damp hair, she pulled it into a loose side braid and prayed for her nerves to settle as well -she had waited all day ...she could wait just a _bit_ longer. She still hadn't decided on how to bring up the favor she needed to ask Daryl, despite dwelling on it the entire duration of her shower _and_ for most of the day. She supposed the best way was to just come right out with it -surely he would appreciate her directness.

Standing, and moving back towards her filing cabinet dresser, she reached to remove the number three card off of the 'Day's Without An Accident' sign, and replaced it with a number four. _Fourteen days without an accident_. Thankfully Maggie and Glenn had spotted the fence before it buckled -and thankfully Daryl had reinforced it the night before, or they might have been back to zero again.

Sighing, Beth turned down her lantern and moved quietly to her curtain, to peek out into the now darkened cellblock. The only light that remained burning was Daryl's overhead, and like a beacon, it beckoned to her -drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

Silently, she stepped through her curtain and padded up the grated staircase, wincing again as the harsh metal cut into her bare feet, and wishing for a pair of slippers. Her heart beat faster with every step she took, until she was standing before his cell, the sheet covering the doorway, the only barrier between them, and she swore he could hear her heart pounding from the hallway.

Taking a deep breath, she peeled the sheet aside and was met instantly with Daryl's intense blue eyes. Reclining on his cot, his booted feet crossed one over the other, he resumed chewing on his thumbnail while Beth ducked inside his cell. She remained in the doorway, her back tucked against the curtain, feeling like a deer in headlights under the sharp scrutiny of his gaze.

"Wasn't sure you were gonna come," his lips twitched in somewhat of a smile.

"I-I figured you'd be more comfortable if I waited until the prison settled," Beth stammered. The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable and jeopardize the alone time he was giving her.

Daryl nodded in reply, dipping his head slowly. "You gonna come in?" He asked, hauling himself up into a sitting position and making room for her.

Beth laughed nervously, moving away from the doorway and taking a seat at the edge of his cot where his feet had just vacated. This newfound nervousness was perplexing, because she had _always_ felt comfortable around Daryl -but today, he only had to look in her direction for her heart to hammer like a caged bird furiously beating its wings to escape its confines.

 _Put it away_ , she chastised herself. Daryl's friendship meant much more than a silly school girl crush.

Daryl leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees then turned to face her again. "Ya did good today, Beth. _Real_ good," his raspy voice putting emphasis on the word 'real'. "The fence, the cold water, makin' sure everyone was fed and taken care of so we didn't have to worry about it, and could just work ..." his voiced tapered off.

This was hard for him, Beth realized. Giving compliments wasn't something Daryl Dixon did often - _if at all_ , and he had complimented her _twice_ today. Her toes curled where they were tucked under his cot, but her spine straightened a bit with the sense of pride that surged through her. It meant something that he had noticed -it meant even more that he was telling her.

Her nervousness abating, Beth placed her hand on his shoulder, trying not to take it too personally that he still flinched a bit at her touch. "Thanks," she said quietly.

He had showered recently too, the smell of soap and masculinity teased her nostrils with him sitting so close in proximity, and Beth inhaled deeply, shamelessly letting his scent wash over her. Slowly, she retracted her hand, noting that even though it was blazing hot, he still remained fully dressed -boots and all, and wondered if Daryl ever _truly_ relaxed.

"But I don't want you to worry about the fence. The rats," he said, being more specific. "I talked to your Dad, and the Council has decided to set up a perimeter patrol. We'll schedule it like fence duty. Tonight, we just put an extra body on watch."

Beth nodded, knowing exactly why he was sharing this with her -trying to ease her mind over her worries about Maggie's pregnancy. The things she shared with him that night in the prison yard ...

"Do you think they really came from the inside?" She asked.

"I think they were meant to make us assume that," he answered with a roll of his shoulders.

"Do you ... Do you think it's him? The-"

"No," Daryl cut her off sharply, his voice harsh.

Beth noticed he did that _a lot_ whenever the Governor came up, as if just the very mention of his name stirred Daryl into uneasiness. She figured it was because of Merle. Daryl didn't talk about what happened that day -just that Merle was gone, but they all knew that he had sacrificed himself to give them a fighting chance -for Daryl's benefit. It still angered her to think about what he had done to Glenn, and what he had a hand in as far as Maggie was concerned -but in the end, he had sought redemption in doing what he felt was the right thing, and there was _always_ forgiveness to be had in redemption.

She studied Daryl, still hunched over, his hair falling to cover his face, hiding his emotions like he did so well. Did he feel shame in what he perceived to be a weakness, she wondered? She wanted to tell him it was okay -it was perfectly acceptable to miss his brother, to love him, even. But she didn't, for fear that he might shut down and shut her out completely.

"Do you have a map of Georgia?" She asked, figuring it was best to shift the topic -and since Daryl was always the one who led the runs, if anyone would have one, it would be him. He had asked her here for a reason, and she was sure it _wasn't_ about the fence, since that fiasco had happened after the fact, but she had her own additional reasoning for coming here, and it was time to get to it.

Daryl looked up then, his face void of any emotions that might have been previously hidden by his hair, and pointed to the desk. "Yeah, should be somewhere over there," he answered, without questioning why she wanted it.

Beth stood, her eyes scanning his desk, but she didn't see it, and didn't want to rifle through his property. Realizing he had tucked it away, Daryl stood too, retrieving it from the backpack stashed under his cot, he handed it to her.

Beth mumbled her thanks as he pulled out the rickety chair and offered it to her, seating himself when she declined. He shoved the contents of his desk back, so she could spread the map out -and _still_ , he did not ask her why she needed it.

"Where are we? Near Newnan, right?" She pointed down to the map, hoping to pique his curiosity.

"Yeh," Daryl answered with a nod, _still_ not taking the bait. He pinpointed their exact location, with his long index finger.

He wasn't gonna make this easy on her, Beth realized, and wondered if he was being purposely obtuse to wring it out of her. _Well, two could play at that game, Mr. Dixon._

"Can I keep this?" She asked, reaching down to fold it back up. Maybe if he thought she didn't want to talk about it, he'd ask her then ...

But he didn't.

"Yeh," another slow dip of his head.

Beth's heart skipped a few beats -the cards were on the table, the time to ask him was now, but suddenly her tongue felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and she was afraid he'd refuse her. She could do it alone. _She could_. She just realized that she didn't want to ... And somewhere deep inside of her, a little voice whispered that his refusal would feel an awful lot like rejection.

" 'Bout tomorrow," Daryl said suddenly, raspy voice low and barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" Beth asked, already preparing for a let down. She had figured earlier that his plans that he mentioned in the kitchen did not include her. Maybe this is how he would start disengaging from her ...their snare trips would become less frequent until he could untangle himself from her completely.

"I talked to your Dad today," he continued.

"You said ..." Beth replied, clutching the folded map in her hand. If he was trying to break their plans she wished he would just do it already and stop drawing it out.

Daryl peered up at her, his blue eyes locking on hers for a second before he swallowed and looked down at his own hands folded in his lap. "If ya still wanna come on that run with me, it's alright with hi - _oomph_ -"

Daryl's breath blew out in a puff as Beth threw herself into his arms with such force, the rickety chair teetered with a weight its uneven leg couldn't support and toppled backwards. In an instant, Daryl's arms encircled her, protecting her from the fall and using himself as a shield as they tumbled to the ground. _Crack!_ The chair hit the concrete, splintering beneath Daryl's back from the force of the fall, the sound reverberating through the silent prison. He grunted with the impact, and Beth felt the wind being knocked from her, as the hard wall of Daryl's chest slammed back into hers.

"Ya alright?" Daryl asked, unfazed by any pain he might be in.

Gasping, Beth dragged some air into her deflated lungs. "Yeah," she forced out between breaths.

"Ya sure?" Daryl was staring up at her, concern drawn in every line of his furrowed brow, his hands roaming up and down the length of her back and arms to make sure nothing was broken.

"Sorry about your chair," Beth grimaced, and then for the utter ridiculousness of the situation, she burst into uncontrollable giggling.

"Ya hit your head or somethin' girl?" Daryl looked every bit of confused as Beth felt, and for some reason, that only made her laugh harder.

"It's -it's just -" Beth stammered through her giggling, tears springing into the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard. "I was just observing how thin I'd become, and then I broke -I broke your chair!" Her laughter approaching hysterics, she cried, "Guess I ain't as skinny as I thought I was!"

And then Daryl was laughing too, a rich, thick sound that pierced right through Beth's chest and burrowed deep inside of her. Right then and there, she decided she loved hearing Daryl Dixon laugh, and she would do her _damnedest_ to draw it out of him any chance she got from this moment forward.

"Get outta here," Daryl smiled. "Ya ain't nothin' much but skin an' bones."

Beth swiped the tears from the corners of her eyes as her laughing abated, suddenly more aware of her own body than she had ever been in her life, _and_ of Daryl beneath her. The air around them crackled with an unspoken tension that Beth had no name for, as the hot molasses feeling returned ten-fold, becoming molten like lava deep in her belly. It flowed like liquid heat, pooling between her thighs where her legs still straddled one of Daryl's. He stared up at her, the blue of his eyes glazing over and Beth bit back a moan as her nipples hardened and tightened where they pressed against his chest. Her cheeks flamed pink, as the heat between her thighs spread to envelope every inch of her body that touched him and she felt like an inferno about to combust and set them both ablaze in flames.

With a pained groan, Daryl suddenly rolled her off of him, swiftly yet gently, using his cot to heave himself up to his feet, and released a heavy sigh ... _of relief_?

Beth cast her eyes to the floor awash in shame, wondering if he had felt the heat that had radiated from her most private of parts while she was pressed so intimately against his leg. She gasped as she realized that her nipples were still hard, straining against the fabric of her tank top. Had he felt them too? Mortified, Beth crossed her arms protectively over her chest, feeling more self conscious than she could ever remember and ashamed of her treacherous body that she seemed to suddenly have no control over.

Daryl thrust his hand down at her, offering her his assistance up from the ground. Since the concrete floor wasn't going to open up and swallow her like she wished it would, Beth wrapped what was left of her dignity around herself and placed her hand in his. Effortlessly, he pulled her up into a standing position and released her just as quickly.

"Should get some rest," Daryl muttered, his voice sounded strained, but not unkind. "Busy day tomorrow." Dragging a hand through his hair, he stepped past her, bending to retrieve the broken chair from the ground and prop it against the wall.

Beth knew it for what it was ...Daryl was trying to dismiss her politely, being as sensitive to her feelings as he could. "I - I'm - Goodnight Daryl," she stammered, and turned and bolted from his cell without waiting for a reply.

She ran down the corridor, moving as silently as she could manage. Ignoring the bite of the grates on the stairs, as she took them two at a time, clutching the railing for support so she wouldn't tumble down them in the dark. Ducking under her curtain, Beth threw herself onto her cot and stuffed her face into her pillow since she could no longer hold back her tears of embarrassment.

Hot and salty, they soaked the fabric, as Beth tried to make sense of what had just happened. She was so terribly confused at the way her body had responded in such close proximity to Daryl. She was not a virgin, she'd been aroused before, _but never like this_ -not when she hadn't even been touched. And Daryl ...had he known? He must have. Why else could he suddenly not put enough distance between them?

 _You're the one who ran away, you idiot._

True. But what else could she have done after making such a _damn_ fool of herself? And what would happen now? Would Daryl dissolve their newfound friendship? She was sure he would take her on the run tomorrow, because he was a man of his word -but after that? She hadn't even asked him for her favor, and now she was too afraid to!

"Beth ..." the sound of her name tickled her ears, a quiet whisper in the darkness.

Jerking her head up from the pillow, Beth held her breath, wondering if she had only imagined it. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tried to blink away the blurriness as she stared into the shadows.

"Beth ..." he whispered her name again, as his body finally came into focus.

"Daryl?" Beth stiffened, wondering how long he had been standing there.

Silently, he made his way across her cell and stood at the foot of her cot. How did he do that, Beth mused, moving so silently even with his boots on in the dead silence of the prison.

"You forgot this," he laid the map down on the cot beside her. His gravelly voice was so low, she might not have heard him if he was a mere fraction of an inch further away.

Unsure what to say, Beth remained silent. She honestly didn't know what to make of this, and suddenly, she felt exhausted -the events of the entire day finally catching up to her and leaving her feeling both physically and emotionally drained.

"It's just a damn chair Beth," Daryl sighed, wringing his hands in front of himself "I ain't mad, I swear."

Bless his heart ... is that really what he thought, or was he just trying to make her feel better? Beth decided at this point, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it was the delirium from exhaustion setting in, or maybe it was the fluttering of butterfly wings stirring in her belly again -she neither knew nor cared, as she pushed herself up on her knees and brushed her lips against his scruffy cheek.

"Goodnight Daryl," she whispered. "See you in the morning."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 ***For reference: The phrase "look a gift horse in the mouth" means: find fault with something that has been received as a gift OR favor. My grandmother always used that saying, and it seemed fitting in this particular part of the story.***

 **Hey Lovelies! WHAT A WEEK! For starters, my littles, Joey - who is autistic, had an accidental fall off of our back deck, and THANK GOD, did not break anything - but we still had an insane amount of stress and worry, and doctors visits -due to him being mostly non-verbal, and his doctors being super cautious ...and I swear I'm a jump, skip and a hop away from a nervous breakdown! But, he is okay, and other than prematurely graying, and a recurring twitch in my left eye, I'm okay too. LOL And then ...**

 **Okay, so funny story - no, NOT really. Don't judge me, but I actually usually type my chapter drafts in the Notes of my iPhone. I do this because I'm literally always on the "go" with my autistic son, and I really just don't have the time to sit at my PC and write -other than maybe an hour or so at night, and if I did that, you'd get updates at a much slower pace. So - I was quick proofreading the draft to send over to my editor, and I accidentally hit "select all" when highlighting a misspelled word, and before my brain actually caught up to my "click mentality" fingers, I deleted THE ENTIRE FUCKEN CHAPTER! So, after my initial freak out (which lasted awhile), I spent 20 minutes googling how to retrieve it without the "undo" function that my iPhone lacks. Long story short - I luckily had most of it backed up on my PC - but the last 10-12 paragraphs (which were really good btw) .gone. So I had to re-write them -only remembering about half of what I had actually wrote prior. Sigh.**

 **Not to mention: that this chapter (in general) came hard for me this week - and I can't decide if it is because I am so excited to get to the next chapter (because, holy shit - I AM!), or the stress here at home, or BOTH. Whichever it is, it caused me to re-write the beginning of this chapter like FOUR TIMES! I just couldn't be satisfied with it - and even now, I'm not sure if I fully am (adding to my delete debacle of the once-perfect ending) ... In any event, I need a stiff drink, and I hope you enjoyed it - and may you all have a wonderful week (hopefully better than mine was)!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - I'll Spread My Wings And I'll Learn How To Fly**

 _I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly_ ,

I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky.

And I'll make wish,

Take a chance, Make a change,

And break away ...

"Break Away" -Kelly Clarkson

* * *

Gently handing Judith and her freshly made bottle over to Rick's waiting arms, Beth rose from the table, pausing to kiss her Daddy's scruffy cheek before heading outside. She may have the pleasure of going on a run with Daryl today, but she still had a job to do first.

Shielding her eyes against the sun, Beth made her way towards the fence, noting that the spikes had done their job and kept the walkers from pushing up on it. The absence of the rats also left a normal, manageable amount of Walkers spread out amongst the perimeter. Grabbing up a crowbar from the fence duty tool collection, Beth shook her head at the insanity of that thought - _Walkers and a normal amount_ ... crazy, but true.

"Mornin'," Karen smiled. One of the few Woodbury people that had really integrated herself with the prison group, she was not afraid to roll up her sleeves and get dirty when it came to helping out. An admirable quality that Tyreese had noticed in her first ...among others.

"Mornin'," Beth greeted her back, nodding to Tyreese who stood behind her, before shoving her crowbar through the eye socket of a particularly fresh looking corpse in a mechanics jumpsuit. As it folded to the ground in a heap, it was replaced by a snarling Walker that had rotted so long, its gender was no longer distinguishable. It crumbled into a squishy blob atop the previous one, the decaying mess no longer even resembling a human being.

Moving down a few paces, she jammed her crowbar through the chain links, aiming for one of the Walkers that was pinned on the spikes, but her arm span wasn't long enough. Grunting in frustration, Beth made a second attempt, stretching up on her toes this time, and yet, she still came up short. Falling backwards, she gasped in surprise as she hit the hard wall of Daryl's chest, that familiar smell of soap and masculinity giving him away as it floated up and teased her nostrils. His arms coming around her, gripping the crowbar too, he thrust it forward, his added length easily taking out the Walker in question. It slumped motionlessly, held up by the speared branch it was stuck on.

"Maybe ya need a step stool?" His gravelly voice teased her ear, immediately releasing his grip and taking a few steps back.

Beth blew out a shaky breath, tightening her own hold on the crowbar before it slipped from her grasp, composing herself as quickly as possible and turned to face him. "Har dee har har," she tossed back, rolling her eyes as if she was annoyed, but she knew her smile gave her away.

"You're off duty," he nodded, reaching into his vest and retrieving his cigarettes, he extracted one from the pack and tucked it between his lips. "We're burnin' day light."

"I'm ready when you are," Beth replied eagerly. And she was. She couldn't wait to get outside of the fences -and being completely alone with Daryl had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it ... _and God, she was a rotten liar._

"C'mon then," Daryl jerked his head in the direction of the prison, indicating that's where she should go, as he cupped his hand around his cigarette to light it. "Let's go."

Hanging her crowbar back with the other tools, Beth fell in step with Daryl as they made their way to where the vehicles were stashed. She was not at all surprised to see Daddy standing there waiting for them, leaning against the bed of the newer- _not new_ model Dodge pickup truck that they used for runs. The tailgate was lowered, a few bins with supplies they might need resting on it, and a twinge of disappointment struck her, that they would not be taking Daryl's motorcycle.

"Just came for one more round of overbearing, doting parent," he joked, trying to make light of the situation. Daddy knew as well as she did, that Daryl wouldn't take her out unless he was sure of her capabilities, but he was uneasy, and Beth understood.

Stopping beside him, she looped her arm through his and kissed his worn cheek, as Daryl rifled through the bins, making sure they had what they needed. "Stop worryin' Daddy, I'll be fine."

"I know," he replied, patting her hand. "But it's my right to worry regardless, and I intend to exercise that right. You just be sure you listen to Daryl, and keep your eyes peeled for a pair of overalls for Rick," he smiled.

"He needs a fatter ass first," Daryl mumbled, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, as he narrowed down what they might need into one bin. Flicking his butt to the ground, he mashed it into the concrete with the toe of his boot before grabbing a gas can and then secured that and the bin to the bed of the pickup with a bungee cord.

"I'm working on it," Hershel laughed. "You just take care of my girl."

The statement was innocent, but last nights events still at the forefront of her thoughts, that didn't stop Beth's mind from diving straight for the gutter. Her cheeks flushing a slight pink, she shifted uncomfortably and stared at the ground below, swearing on all things holy that she'd burst into flames before this day was through. _And Lord, but it was going to be a long day!_

Excusing herself, Beth hustled back to her cell to grab her backpack and the memo pad where she had jotted down a few things she knew that they needed in general, as well as any requests she'd remembered hearing in passing conversation over the last two weeks. _That_ being the last time anyone had gone on a run other than Daryl -when Zach died. Beth shook her head. She wasn't exactly superstitious, but _now_ wasn't the time to be thinking about those things.

Passing Daddy on his way in, she threw her arms around him again, nodding her head when he warned her for the umpteenth time to listen to Daryl and be safe. Then, waving to Rick and Carl, she made her way back outside, a smile plastered to her face, her messy ponytail swinging behind her, and the butterflies in her belly fluttering wildly.

As the heavy metal door swung shut behind her, Beth stopped dead in her tracks, her smile fading as a familiar set of breasts insistently followed Daryl around the truck as he closed the tailgate. _Lenore_. Rambling on about body spray, she pawed at Daryl like a cat about to climb a tree, her heaving bosom barely contained in the lacy black bra that peeped up over the neckline of her red tank top.

Anger flared deep within the pit of her stomach, immediately singeing all of the butterflies, ceasing their fluttering -and Beth had a delightful vision of popping those fun bags like overinflated balloons, and sending Lenore flying into the air like a cartoon character. Instead, Beth just smiled sweetly as she passed by her and deposited her backpack into the front seat of the truck, climbing in after it.

"I'm ready," Beth announced loudly - _louder than necessary_ , as Daryl quickly ducked into the drivers seat and slammed the door behind him.

"Don't forget," Lenore winked up at him as she leaned heavily against the trucks door, her breasts tumbling through the window like two attack dogs. "I'll make it worth your while."

Daryl nodded politely, turning the key in the ignition and shifting the truck into gear before Lenore finally took the hint and disengaged her claws from the drivers side door.

"What was that all about?" Beth asked, unable to hide her annoyance as Daryl guided the truck down the gravel road and to the front gates, where Maggie and Glenn were waiting to let them out. Beth blew a kiss to her big sister, as Daryl sped through the opening and out onto the road.

"I dunno," Daryl rolled his shoulders into a shrug. "Some shit about needing body spray ...whatever the hell that is ..." he grumbled in his gravelly voice.

"It's kinda like perfume," Beth replied, scratching it down on her memo pad, and biting her tongue. If she happened to see some, she'd grab it, but she sure as hell didn't plan on going out of her way to look for it. "She doesn't like me," Beth blurted out -unsure why she felt the need to share that with him.

"Why ya say that?" Daryl asked.

"I spilled beans on her boobs yesterday," Beth answered solemnly, and was rewarded with the sound of Daryl's rich laughter ringing through the truck cabin.

"Big enough target, I'spose," Daryl said, the traces of a smile still teasing the corner of his mouth.

She decided to ignore the little jolt of jealousy that pricked her spine. How could he _not_ notice Lenore's breasts? You could land a plane on them, and she obviously didn't believe in modesty. "Are you insinuating I did it on purpose, _Mr. Dixon_?" Beth feigned insult.

Daryl shook his head no, still smirking. "Never."

The cabin became silent, as Beth turned her attention to the scenery passing by them in a blur. Rolling her window down all the way, she leaned into the breeze, letting the wind whip the loose tendrils of her hair about, and inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell and the feel of freedom. The simple things they had once taken for granted, like just riding in the car with the windows down, felt now, like a luxury of bygone days.

"I missed this," Beth breathed, settling back into her seat, as Daryl slowed down when they approached what was once a main road, and hung a left. "Too bad we couldn't take your bike," she sighed in disappointment, gazing up at Daryl as he tugged his cigarettes free from his vest and lit one, easily steering the truck one-handed.

"You ever been on the back of a bike?" He asked, that little smirk creeping back into the corner of his mouth as he tossed the cigarette pack onto the dashboard.

Beth shook her head, "Nope. But it's on my bucket list."

"What else you got on that list?" Daryl inquired, pushing the truck's cigarette lighter in.

"Why? You looking to help me cross some things off?" Beth asked, smiling coyly up at him and batting her eyelashes. Holy shit, _was she outright flirting with Daryl Dixon?_

"Maybe," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Guess that depends on what they are." Side-eyeing her while he plucked the lighter from the console, he brought it to the cigarette dangling between his still-smirking lips, puffing until the cherry was a bright glowing red, then replaced it.

Holy shit, _was he flirting back?_

Did Daryl even know how to flirt? Not once in the years she'd come to know him, had he ever showed an interest in anyone -female _or otherwise_. Maybe she was just imagining it, either way, she knew she was treading dangerous ground, as she stared openly at him puffing away on his cigarette. Beth did not find smoke or smoking in any way attractive, but how in the hell did Daryl Dixon make it look so damn sexy?

Tearing her gaze away before she embarrassed herself like she had last night, Beth flipped open the glove compartment, looking for something to distract herself with. Finding nothing but some folded maps and automobile registration papers for a Mr. Brett Harper, she flipped it shut again, her eyes scanning the dashboard and settling on the truck's radio -a cassette tape peeping halfway out of the tape deck.

Curiosity tugging at her, Beth reached over and pushed the tape in, adjusting the volume button about mid-way. The speakers crackled while the tape deck automatically flipped the cassette tape over to the other side. A few more seconds of crackling before the classic country rock sounds of Lynryd Skynryd's Sweet Home Alabama touched their ears.

Beth's smile split wide open, as she bobbed her head in tune with the music and sung along, "Big wheels keep on turnin', carry me home to see my kin. Singin' songs about the south-land, I miss ol' Bamy once again, and I -" She paused under the scrutiny of Daryl's gaze. "What?" She asked him. "Ain't you supposed to be watchin' the road?"

"You're somethin' else, girl," Daryl shook his head. His smirk seemed to be a permanent fixture for today. _Not that Beth minded or anything ..._

"Why's that?" She asked, reaching to lower the volume a bit.

"Ridin' bikes, singin' Skynryd," Daryl shook his head again, inhaling a drag from his cigarette. "Your Dad know what a rebel you are?"

Beth threw back her head and laughed. "Who do you think I got the album from?"

"C'mon," Daryl eyed her cynically. Slowing down to maneuver around an obstruction in the road, he weaved them safely onto the shoulder before continuing. "Hershel? I mean, he's a tough ol' sonofabitch an' all ..."

Beth nodded, unzipping her backpack and retrieving a bottle of water. "I know it's hard to believe, but apparently my Dad was pretty badass back in the day. Mama was almost twenty years younger than him, you know?" She paused a moment, twisting the cap off to take a sip and then passed the bottle to Daryl. "Besides, Sweet home Alabama is like a southern anthem. Who _doesn't_ know it?"

Daryl shrugged, flicking his cigarette out the open window before he closed his hand around the bottle and took a swig. "Ya might be right. Just not what I expected, is all."

Beth reached to take the bottle from him, her fingertip circling the rim in a soft caress where his lips had just been. She brought it to her own mouth once more before replacing the lid. "Pleasantly surprised, I hope," She mumbled, surprised _again_ at her own boldness lately.

Daryl didn't answer her, though, and Beth began to worry that maybe she had taken it too far, when she looked up to find him stealing a glance at her. She blushed, her eyes flitting down demurely, then back up, catching a flash in the peripheral of her vision. "Daryl, watch out!" She cried, pointing to the cluster of Walkers stumbling out onto the road in front of them.

"Dammit!" Daryl hit the brakes, his hand tightening on the steering wheel, his other arm flying out protectively as a brace to keep Beth from propelling forward and into the dashboard.

The truck screeched to a jarring halt, the force careening them forward, then slamming them back into their seats, as the handful of Walkers convened curiously around the truck, hungry for their next meal. Shaking his head, Daryl hit the power windows button, sending the windows sliding up, and turned to Beth.

"You alright?" He asked, ignoring the Walkers hissing and growling outside of the truck, posing only a minor threat now that the windows were up.

Beth blew out a shaky breath, nodding her head vigorously. "Yeah," she said with a nervous giggle. "Just startled, is all." She glanced down at his arm still flung protectively over her, his palm spread flat, resting on her abdomen, and her heart pounded harder for an entirely different reason. "You?" She breathed, her voice a mere puff of air.

Following her line of vision, he too looked down where his hand was splayed familiarly across her belly, and jerked it back suddenly, like it was on fire. "Put your seat belt on," he snapped rather harshly, mashing the gas pedal and mowing over the unfortunate corpse who happened to be standing in front of the truck.

Beth did as he told her, dragging it over her shoulder and clicking it into place, mentally chastising herself for not having it on to begin with. The cab fell into a deafening silence, leaving Beth to ponder at his sudden burst of coldness. The way he blew hot and then cold was liable to give her whiplash. They drove a few more miles before turning off onto a back road, and then another that was nearly overgrown for lack of use, and unpaved. Coasting the truck to a stop, Daryl put the truck in park, but left it running.

"Stay here," he instructed her, grabbing his crossbow from the space between them and climbing out of the truck, he slung it over his shoulder. Quietly closing the drivers side door, he made his way around to her side of the truck, and then disappeared into the brush.

Watching from the safety of the pickup, Beth held her breath, waiting for Daryl to reappear and wondering where he had gone. A few moments later, the brush _moved_ -revealing a tamped down space big enough for a single vehicle, and Daryl along with it. Un-shouldering his bow, he dropped it into the bed of the pickup truck and climbed back into the drivers seat. Tossing his arm over the back of her headrest, he threw the truck in reverse and maneuvered smooth as silk, into the tight spot.

"Ready?" He asked, cutting the engine.

Beth was a bit confused. "Are we huntin' first?"

"Nah," Daryl shook his head no, as he let himself out of the truck again, waiting for her to climb out too, before he continued speaking. "I've seen people scavenging here before. Best we go on foot so we can slip away quietly if anyone's hangin' 'round. We can swing back for the truck later if we find anythin' good that's too big to carry."

"Okay," Beth nodded her understanding, shrugging her backpack on.

Daryl had already begun dragging his magical Houdini roadside brush camouflage back into place - which turned out to be the broken limb of an apparently very large tree, so Beth gave him a hand, curious how he had known _exactly_ where it was from the road, with no distinguishable markers - _that she could see, anyway_. When he was satisfied that the truck was decently hidden, Daryl ushered her back into the woods, and retrieved his crossbow from the bed of the pickup.

They heard it's growling before they spotted it -a single Walker, stumbling towards them with outstretched arms. It's jaws mashing loudly, it tripped over a fallen log in its haste to reach them, and crumbled to the forest floor in a heap.

"I've got it," Beth said, her hand already sliding down to slip her knife from its sheath. Quickly, but cautiously, she rushed forward, plunging her blade down hard, and stabbing it in the back of its skull before it managed to drag itself up from the ground. The deed done, she bent to scrape her knife on the forest floor, cleaning the rotting brain matter and blood off as best as she could, before tucking her blade back at her hip.

With an appreciative nod in her direction, Daryl lowered the tailgate, and unhooked the bungee cords, then popped the lid off of the bin, rummaging around until he found the flashlight and empty duffel bag he was digging for. He replaced the lid, quickly securing everything again and then closed the tailgate back up, casting his eyes to the sky momentarily.

"We've got 'bout a quarter of a mile walk to the development and the mornings slippin' from us fast," he pointed up through the canopy of the trees, indicating the suns placement. "Lets hustle, Greene."

It was unoriginal -many others had called her Greene before him, yet none who had set her heart to thumping in her chest, and making her tummy drop like she was riding on a roller coaster. _She liked it_. "Waitin' on you, _Dixon_ ," Beth tossed back.

With a smirk and a slow dip of his head, Daryl started forward, moving silently through the woods with Beth a few paces behind, doing her damnedest to move just as quietly, as she again, marveled how he managed it. The sounds of the woods enveloped them -chirping birds and rustling leaves, and not another human in sight, _living or otherwise_.

As Daryl had said, the walk was a relatively short one, and soon they emerged from the woods on the perimeter of a small suburban development with a cluster of no more than about twelve to fifteen homes, from what Beth could see from her vantage point. Daryl stopped just at the edge of the woods, snaking his arm out to stop her from proceeding any further, while his eyes scanned their surroundings for any signs of danger.

"We already searched those," he explained to her, pointing to the houses directly in front of them. "And since those are right off the main road an' easily accessible, probably ain't nothin' good left in 'em," he indicated the homes towards the front by the entrance.

"So those back there, then?" Beth asked, pointing to the three homes in the very back. She shielded her eyes against the sun, taking in the field of corn behind them.

"Yeh," Daryl nodded, turning and pressing Beth back into the cover of the woods. "We'll come up through the corn."

Using the trees and brush to conceal them, they stayed just within the edge of the woods, Daryl guiding Beth along with his hand at the small of her back, walking just far enough to come up from the cornfields behind the first house. Grabbing a fistful of her tank top, Daryl tugged gently, indicating for Beth to stop, as he un-shouldered his bow, and nodded his head towards the sheathed blade at her waste, indicating for her to arm herself.

Beth slid her knife from its sheath, gripping its ivory hilt tightly in her hand, as she eyed the towering stalks of corn warily, a chill working its way down her spine. Farm girl or not, there was nothing appealing about traipsing through the corn maze before them -they were scary enough on their own without the threat of whatever could be hiding and lurking around within them. The husks rustled in the wind, sounding like a raspy wheezing, as if the cornfield was alive and breathing, just waiting to swallow them whole.

Daryl pushed through the stalks first, his crossbow leveled in front of him, as Beth fell in step behind him, wedging herself up tightly against his back, her fist clenching a handful of his vest. As her heart hammered wildly in her chest, Beth fought to control her breathing, her head whipping left to right, every sound magnified, as the stalks scraped at her arms and face like bony fingers trying to pull her away from Daryl and drag her deeper into its depths. They were only shrouded within the corn for a few minutes, but it felt like eons, as Beth stumbled into the yard behind the house.

Releasing the death grip on Daryl's vest, she fell to her knees in the grass, crawling away from the cornfield as she fought against the dizziness engulfing her, desperate to drag some air into her lungs. _Breathe, dammit breathe_! Her brain screamed, but her body would not cooperate.

"Beth!" She heard Daryl calling her name, his voice trying to penetrate the haze she was trapped in. _No, please no_ , she pleaded internally, warring with her body to remain conscious, to not black out, even as she felt the grass coming up to meet her.

"Shit," a muffled curse, crossbow clattering to the ground, her fingers being pried open, her knife shoved a safe distance away. Then pressure - _hands_ , warm, _so warm_ on her stomach and the small of back, lifting her to her knees and heating her right through the thin cotton of her tank top -no, _under_ her tank top, on her bare skin. Warm and calloused, Daryl's fingertips pressed firmly into her chilled flesh. She focused on that pressure, gasping as with her next gulping breath, the air finally made it to her struggling lungs. And again.

"That's it, Beth. Nice an' slow. In an' out," she could hear his gravelly voice encouraging her, coaching her out of her panicked state. "Just like that sweetheart."

Slowly, the haze lifted and her vision became less blurry.

"Five things ya can see, Beth?" Daryl softly demanded.

"What?" She gasped.

"Ground yourself. Five things ya can see?" He repeated.

Just lifting her head was an effort, but she did, forcing her eyes to focus on her surroundings. "Swings," she muttered, her eyes falling briefly on the swing set a few feet away from them. She took another deep breath and slowly blew it back out. "Bicycle. Crossbow. Shovel. Ball," she listed them all slowly, drawing air into her lungs and exhaling, until her heart slowed and the dizziness subsided.

"That'a girl," Daryl blew out his own ragged breath, removing his hand at her stomach, but the one on her back remained. "Wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Beth shook her head no. "Not really," she mumbled, embarrassed on how she'd crumbled so quickly after convincing him how strong and capable she was supposed to be. Drawing from the reserves of her courage, she dragged her eyes up to meet his gaze, his blue eyes watching her intently, filled _not_ with condemnation, but only concern.

Closing her eyes, Beth sighed as she found her voice, and recounted a terrifying story from her past, of a little girl of only six, who had wandered into the cornfields of the neighboring farm during an innocent game of hide and seek with her big brother. How her brilliant hiding place had turned into a horrifying nightmare when she'd wandered in too far, and couldn't find her way back out -stumbling through the maze of corn for hours and hours, her throat raw from crying and calling for help that never came. A search party of police and volunteering neighbors had finally found her later on that night, curled up beneath a scarecrow post, filthy and traumatized -her skin covered in scratches from pushing through the corn stalks.

"It's so dumb," Beth chastised herself, ashamed of her own stupidity, and how something that had happened well over a decade ago still had the power to affect her so profoundly.

"It ain't," Daryl shook his head, insistently. "Shit that scares ya as a kid can follow you around your whole life."

She thought he was just trying to make her feel better, but he sounded so sure of himself, Beth wondered if Daryl spoke from experience.

" _Shit_ Beth, why didn't ya say something' though?" He asked. "If I knew you were so scared, I would'a found another way in."

"I didn't know I was gonna react that way," she replied, her shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry. Guess I ruined our stealthy entrance."

"Yeh," Daryl nodded, his lips twitching in a hint of a smile, "Yeh, ya did." He slid his hand down her back and removed it from under her shirt, as if only now just realizing he still had it there.

Beth shivered in response, missing the warmth he radiated immediately. "I -I think I'm good now," she stammered.

"We're okay here," Daryl said, pulling himself up to his feet and looking around. "Take a few sips of water. Take your time."

Swinging her backpack off her back, Beth set it in her lap and did as he said, unzipping it and drinking some water, while Daryl removed some ripe corn from the stalks that were bordering the yard.

"Ain't got nothin' against _actual_ corn do ya?" He asked over his shoulder.

"No," Beth answered between sips. "Just the fields."

"Good," he returned with an armful of corn. "Tuck 'em in your bag, they'll grill up real nice for supper."

Beth pulled out a plastic bag from the front pocket of her backpack and held it open as Daryl dropped the corn in, offering him some water, before tucking that away too, as he bent to retrieve her knife from the ground where he had flung it during her panic attack. Extending her his hand, he tugged her up from the grass, handing over her knife, then scooping up his duffel bag and crossbow, led the way across the yard.

It was a small, two story house, with beige aluminum siding that matched the wooden deck in the back. Obviously belonging to a family before being abandoned, as evidenced by the toys cluttering the overgrown yard. Beth hoped that the family that once lived here was still alive and well somewhere, as she followed Daryl up the porch stairs.

Banging on the sliding glass doors, Daryl held his hand up, indicating they wait a moment to see if any Walkers materialized from inside. When none appeared at the door, and he seemed satisfied that it was safe to proceed, he jerked his head, so she'd get behind him, and reached for the handle, not at all surprised to find the door unlocked. Apparently, most were, she figured.

His crossbow trained before him, finger on the trigger, Daryl whispered for her to stay put, as he quickly cleared the first floor. Swinging open what appeared to be a basement door, he shut it again, opting to lock it instead of explore it, for the time being. Dashing up the stairs, he quickly cleared the second floor too, before joining her back in the kitchen.

"All clear," Daryl confirmed, moving to stand beside her, as she swung open the kitchen cabinets overhead. He opened his duffel bag, spreading it open on the counter top. "Batteries, food, water -anything small if you think it's useful. Anything big, write it down or remember it, and we'll swing back with the truck, or send another team back later."

Beth nodded, already moving on to the next cabinet, after finding nothing useful in the first. She found a can of baked beans, rolling her eyes at the irony and was _almost_ tempted _not_ to put it into his bag -but food was food, and so she dropped it in anyway. Daryl had already moved on from the kitchen, but stayed within view, now emptying batteries out of the remote controllers in the living room.

Beth pulled out her memo pad, checking the list as she started up to the second floor. "I'm heading upstairs," she called down to Daryl.

"Stay out of the first bedroom on the left," he called back. "There's a Walker in there."

"Okay," Beth replied, a pang of sadness hitting her that the family who had resided here might _not_ have made it out safely after all , if there was a corpse left behind in the house.

Cresting the top of the stairs, she could already hear the Walker thumping around and growling from behind the closed door. Quickly skirting past it, Beth ducked into the bathroom and jerked up the shades, bathing the room in sunlight, as she tore open the vanity and got to work.

Her bathroom haul was much better, having found toothpaste, mouthwash, a roll of toilet paper, two sealed toothbrushes and a variety of over the counter and prescription medication. She wasn't sure what they were, but Daddy or Bob would surely know whether or not they were useful. Stuffing it all into her backpack, she moved on to the next room.

Pushing on the door, it groaned as it slowly opened, revealing an unfinished nursery in shades of pastel pinks and yellows. A beautiful old-fashioned crib, the only thing in the room, sat as a lonely shrine, gathering dust. Beth's heart lurched in her throat, thinking of all the hopes and dreams tied up in the pink wallpaper, half hung, and the fluffy yellow comforter draped over the side of the crib. All things that had never come to fruition, and a harsh reminder of what the world had become. Suddenly she felt as if she was intruding -like she was standing on someone's grave. It hit her with such an unexpected force, she quickly shut the door, and backed herself up against the adjacent wall.

"Everythin' okay?" Daryl called up to her.

Beth swallowed past the lump in her throat, shaking her head at her own silly behavior. "Yeah, I'm okay."

But she could not go back into _that_ room, and let herself into the master bedroom, instead.

It was a mess, or _likely_ had already been ransacked, with drawers hanging open and clothing strewn about the room. The decorative striped comforter that matched the pillowcases on the bed, laid in a rumpled heap on the floor. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Beth bent to retrieve the blanket, and tossed it back onto the bed, as she made her way to the bedside table.

Finding a TV remote, she removed the batteries from it, like she'd seen Daryl do downstairs, and tossed them in her bag, then tugged the little drawer open, rifling through its contents, and finding an opened box of condoms. Her face flushing twenty different shades of pinks and reds, Beth glanced self consciously over her shoulder, then dumped them into her backpack, and stood, abruptly moving away from the bedside table, as if she'd done something sinful.

She moved to the small dresser first, berating herself for her foolishness. They were _just_ condoms for goodness sake! Wasn't it better to be safe rather than sorry? And who says they were for _her_ use, anyhow? _And who are you kidding, girl - you want them to be..._ Beth continued arguing with herself while she dug through drawers, finding a few t-shirts that might be useful to someone back at the prison, although most of the clothing that was left was strangely in no better condition than what she was wearing.

She was just about to move to the taller dresser, when it caught her eye -a large can of men's deodorant spray with Lenore's name all over it. With a satisfying smugness so unlike her, Beth dropped it into her bag, chewing her lip at her own deviousness. She _had_ asked for body spray, after all, and this _was_ spray for a body.

Stifling a giggle, Beth tackled her last place to hunt for treasures, and began rummaging through the taller dresser, feeling like whomever had gotten here first, probably already took anything that was worth taking. Pushing herself up on her tip toes, she peeked into the top drawer, finding it full of a different kind of treasure -lingerie and lacy bra and panty sets, and _other_ ...unmentionables. With her ears burning, and her cheeks flaming, Beth brazenly grabbed for a light blue bra with delicate cream accents, holding it up against herself and wondered what she'd look like in something so ...well, _sexy_. She imagined herself wearing something like this for a man. _Maybe_ Daryl ...

 _Yep, she was definitely going to burst into flames today._

But what man had any desire to see a girl with no boobs or ass in something that was _clearly_ meant to highlight _just_ those very areas? Things like this were made for women like Lenore ... _not_ her. Snorting in disgust at the direction her thoughts had taken, Beth tossed the bra back in the drawer, and turned to leave. She'd long ago gotten over the fact that she didn't have the _perfect_ body of her big sister -that she'd never turn heads with her barely-there breasts, like Lenore did, _but dammit_ , she was _not_ ashamed of her body! With a fierceness that burned hotter than her flushed cheeks, Beth stomped back to the dresser and snatched the blue bra and matching panties.

Checking the size tags, she went to stuff them in her bag, when a hand clamped down over her mouth, and another snaked around her waist, trapping her arms against her sides. She didn't even have time to scream, she barely had time to think, as the arms tightened around her like vice, choking off her rationality as cold hard fear squeezed her in its grasp.

Beth struggled against her assailant, trying to wrench her arms free, but it was no use. _Where was Daryl? Was he hurt?_ Fumbling for her sheath, she somehow managed to work her knife free, even with her arms restricted, and with all the strength she could muster in her restrained state, sliced it across the upper thigh of her captor, digging in as hard and deeply as she could.

 _He didn't make a peep._

Nor did he try to disarm her, as he began dragging her backwards, the heels of her boots scraping on the hardwood floors.

* * *

 **A/N: So, a mini milestone here ...this is to date, my longest chapter for this story -beating out chapter 1 by about 120 words. I've been doing my best to keep the chapters long -all over 5000 words.**

 **A few important things to note - next chapter we will be back to Daryl's POV. Also, it's my own personal head cannon that Annette Greene was considerably younger than Hershel -because it fits the narrative of my story perfectly, but also because I've always just _felt_ like she was. Even on the show in Walker form, when she stumbled out of the barn - her hair was blonde like Beth's, and she appeared younger. Maybe she had a youthful spirit and an old soul. **

**Hope you enjoyed this Bethyl heavy chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - This Weight I Carry, This Weight I've Found**

Strapped down and heavy,

tied up and bound.

 _This weight I carry,_

 _this weight I've found._

So, let me be the one to say,

I've really had enough ...

"Headstrong" -Earshot

* * *

Daryl popped the backs off of the remote controls and slapped them into his palm to dislodge the batteries. Usually they had little to no juice, but every little bit helped, and sometimes they got lucky. His gaze flitted to Beth, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, a distasteful look on her face, as she dropped a can into his duffel bag, where he'd left it on the kitchen island.

She seemed okay now, _but damn_ , she'd given him a hell of a scare coming out of that cornfield! He'd recognized it immediately for what it was -a panic attack, being no stranger to them himself. The fact that he'd been the cause of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and an uneasiness settling deep in his stomach.

But his stomach was already uneasy. Had been so for days, if he could just _stop_ fucking kidding himself. His stomach, his brain, his ... Daryl shook his head and cringed at his own thoughts. He was still pissed at himself for the truck incident. Too damn busy watching Beth twirl her little finger around the rim of that bottle, and not paying attention to the road. _The fuck was wrong with him?_ He couldn't afford to make stupid slip-ups like that when one wrong move could cost your life -or worse, _her life_.

"I'm heading upstairs," Beth called, interrupting him from his self flagellation, as she started up the stairs.

"Stay out of the first bedroom on the left," he called the warning after her. "There's a Walker in there."

"Okay," she yelled back down to him.

 _Good._ Now maybe he could get something done without being so damned distracted. Shuffling around the recliner, Daryl bent to grab a few Highlights children magazines from the coffee table, as well as some decorative candles -never knew when they'd need them, lavender fields scent or not, and he always tried to grab any reading material he stumbled on, helping to aid Hershel in expanding the prison library. Especially shit to keep the kids busy.

His arms full, he headed back to the kitchen and packed his findings into the duffel bag, not lingering there long, since Beth had already explored here. He tugged open the pantry door, finding nothing worth taking -just a bunch of cobwebs and cleaning supplies. Despite thinking these houses in the back would be worth a look, it appeared this one in particular had already been scavenged. But really, what hadn't anymore? Everything left in this world was just somebody else's unwanted leftovers.

Shutting the door, he grabbed the duffel bag and moved on to the dinning room, immediately emptying the candles from the decorative candelabra that sat as a centerpiece on the big oak table, into his bag. Thinking the candelabra itself would probably be useful, he dropped that in, too. A small writing desk sat in the far corner, just begging him to come rummage it's contents, and so he obliged. Beth had said she needed paper -it was the premise for this whole outing _actually_ , and _yet_ ... she had breezed right by it.

 _Maybe she was distracted too?_

And maybe he was delusional if he thought he could keep her from his thoughts for very long, because that was working so well lately, wasn't it? In fact, he'd thought of very little _but_ her since they'd broken his chair last night. _Specifically_ , his reaction to her body splayed out across him, and the cold way he had treated her afterward for something that was entirely _his_ fault and lack of self control.

 _But how do you control something you don't fully understand?_

Yanking open the top drawer, Daryl shook his head and tried to focus on his task, helping himself to a handful of pens and pencils, as well as a box of paper clips -great for picking locks, should the occasion arise, they made a useful addition to any redneck toolbox. He moved down the line of drawers, rummaging through stacks of bills and junk, finally finding what he was looking for in the last drawer -paper. Tons of it. Colored, white, lined, and even pretty stationary with flowers and butterflies -girly shit that Beth would probably like. Trying to arrange it carefully in his bag so it wouldn't get folded or ruined, he headed back to the kitchen, intent on investigating the basement next when he heard a thumping upstairs.

"Everythin' okay?" He called up to Beth, figuring it was probably just that damn corpse, but wanted to be sure.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she called back almost immediately, though he picked up on the slight strain in her voice and wondered what had her so shaken.

Daryl shook his head. The girl just had a panic attack, of course she was a bit on edge. _Get it the fuck together, Dixon_ , he chastised himself, dropping his duffel bag back on the kitchen island and un-shouldering his crossbow. Since when had he become so damn over-protective, anyway?

His hand was already turning the basement doorknob when he heard them -voices. Daryl froze. Men's voices. Three? _No_ , two.

Immediately pressing himself tight against the wall, he leaned over and peered out the glass sliding patio doors, as the two men came stumbling out of the cornfield and into view, talking loudly amongst themselves and making no effort to be quiet, thankfully. _Fucking idiots_.

"Beth," Daryl's low voice barely passed as a raspy whisper, as he called out to her. They still had time to slip out the front unnoticed, but they had to move _now_! "Beth," he tried again, but knew it was pointless -she was too far away to hear his quiet plea, and he couldn't raise his voice any louder without alerting the men in the yard who were now almost to the deck.

 _Shit!_ Quickly grabbing the duffel bag off of the island, Daryl opened the cabinets under the kitchen sink and shoved the bag inside, tucking it safely out of sight, then dove for the staircase as the booted feet clomped up the porch stairs outside, talking about something in the basement.

He took the steps two at a time, his feet moving silently even in his haste, and headed for the only open door, praying Beth was in that room. Thankfully, she was -a lacy blue bra clutched in her grasp, she was completely oblivious to him.

His trained ears picked up the sound of the patio door sliding open on the floor below, as he silently begged Beth's forgiveness for what he was about to do. Moving behind her with stealth speed, he clamped his hand down over her mouth so she couldn't give them away, his other hand slipping around her waist, as his eyes frantically searched the room for a good place to hide. Beth struggled against him, trying to break free from the vice of his arms, he didn't notice that she'd managed to work her knife free until he felt the cut of her blade against his outer thigh, slicing through his skin.

Daryl mashed his teeth down on his tongue, biting until he tasted blood, but he did _not_ cry out. If he could thank his father for one thing, it was that he'd learned long ago to suffer in silence. Mind over matter -and any way you flipped the coin, the _only_ thing that mattered to him _right now_ , was getting Beth to safety.

"Beth, its me," he breathed against her ear, the adrenaline throbbing through his veins, already dulling the pain in his leg as his eyes settled on the half open closet behind them.

With his choices limited, he tugged them backward towards what he hoped was safety. It swallowed them, shrouding them in darkness, as Daryl pressed himself as tightly against the back wall as his crossbow would allow -cursing himself for not removing it first, _but dammit_ , there was no time! Instead of pulling the door shut, he left it ajar to throw off suspicion and make it a less obvious hiding place - _especially to two idiots who didn't even have the sense to be quiet_ , as he eased his hand from Beth's mouth, but tightened his grasp around her waist, yanking her flush against him.

Beth drew in a shaky breath, and worried that she might have another panic attack, Daryl slid his other hand up under her tank top, pressing the balls of his fingertips into the soft skin of her bare stomach, attempting to help ground her like he had earlier beside the cornfield, ignoring the strange sensation that burned suddenly in his own gut. He felt her shudder in response, a sharp intake of breath, as his grip on her tightened and the voices drew closer.

They were arguing, their loud calls carrying through the empty house like a chamber of echoes, insulting each other and guffawing as their booted feet stomped up the stairs. Their shenanigans only serving to rile the Walker in the next room up more, its growls and incessant thumping grew louder by the minute, helping to mask Daryl and Beth's erratic breathing.

"I'm tellin' you, ya dumb shit, I heard somethin'," one of them insisted from the doorway of the bedroom.

"Ya ain't heard nothin' but this dumb dead asshole," the other one shot back. The sound of banging bouncing off the walls, indicating he was either hitting or kicking the door, driving the hungry Walker inside into a frenzy.

A door groaned open, then slammed shut a moment later. Both men had stopped talking and now the only sounds aside from the Walker's growls were the clunk of their boots on the floors as they searched the upstairs rooms, and the pounding of Daryl's heart in his own ears. Or maybe Beth's -he couldn't be sure.

Daryl could feel Beth tensing up in his arms, feel her breath hitch as she wedged herself closer, the supple softness of her bottom pressing intimately against his crotch. His own breath hitched for an entirely different reason, as the pulsing heat in his stomach unfurled and dropped like a rock, straight to his groin.

 _This was not happening_. Not while they were trapped like rats, in a precarious situation -potentially dangerous. No, no, no! _No, he was not getting turned on_.

 _But he was_ ...and he was helpless to stop it. A slave to his own body, as the pain in his leg throbbed with a dull ache, and his cock throbbed with an entirely different ache -and _not_ at _all_ dull. It strained against the confines of his pants, and he _knew_ she could feel it - _knew_ what a disgusting piece of shit he had to be to pop a boner in her ass while they were hiding in a closet.

They were inside the bedroom now, Daryl could see the denim clad legs of one of the men, as he spun in a slow circle, assessing the room. Beth could too, as evidenced by her body language, pressing Daryl back further, he fought to stay his hips, as they instinctively wanted to push back against her. Instead, he leaned backwards, until his crossbow dug into his back and he welcomed the pain, as it sharpened his focus, although it did absolutely nothing to squelch his erection.

"Satisfied dumbass?" The one in the doorway muttered.

"Yer a smug sonofabitch, ya know that?" The other one shot back, already on his way towards his friend.

"Let's just get the jars and get outta here. This fucking place creeps me out." The smug ones voice carried from the hallway, accompanying the clunking of boots on the stairs.

The seconds stretched for what seemed like hours as he and Beth remained pressed together in the tight space, their sweat mingling where their bodies touched. They hadn't been discovered, but they weren't out of the woods yet. Tweedle Dee and Dum were still in the house -although Daryl could no longer hear them, but he distinctively remembered them discussing the basement as they came upon the property. He guessed that's where they were now.

His leg felt like it was on fire, and Daryl started to wonder if it was blood loss and delirium that had stripped him of control over his own body, since even the fear of being caught, and the shame and embarrassment that came along with it, still didn't put a damper on the blood surging through his dick. _And what a fucking lie!_ Delirium! What was his excuse last night? He wasn't bleeding out when Beth was pressed against him then -in fact, the _only_ similarity of _both_ these instances was _her_.

Beth sighed, dropping her head back to rest on his shoulder, and only then did Daryl realize that his fingers resting on her abdomen were no longer pressing into her flesh to help ground her, but instead softly caressing the smooth, sweat slicked skin of her stomach. _This was wrong_. This was so _fucking wrong_ , and Daryl was disgusted with himself, as his hot breath fanned the side of her face, but that didn't stop him. Instead, he took the liberties she allowed him, his hand dipping just a fraction of an inch lower to trace the curve of her belly button that he'd admired the night it had peeped out to tease him as he was helping to affix the sheath he'd gifted her.

Delirium. He was going with that, _logic be damned_. Temporary insanity from the heat of their confined space and his loss of blood. He couldn't even feel his leg anymore -his painful erection canceling everything else out. The resuming arguing of the two assholes downstairs snapped him back to attention. Beth too, as she straightened abruptly, the friction of her moving against him almost doubling Daryl over, and he had no choice but to remove his hand from her belly and brace the wall to keep himself upright.

The arguing persisted, followed by the sound of the sliding glass doors opening and then closing, muffling the voices of the men carrying on their current disagreement in the backyard. Daryl and Beth blew out a simultaneous sigh, their breath mingling together in the tight space, as Daryl gently shoved Beth away from him and stumbled out of the closet. He approached the bedroom window cautiously, a limp in his step -careful to stay out of sight, but remained planted in that spot until the two men disappeared into the corn maze, then waved Beth out of the closet.

"Daryl, your leg ... I-I'm sorry!" She stammered, distraught at the sight of his blood dripping from her knife. She looked on the verge of tears as she shoved it in her sheath, not bothering to clean it.

He wasn't angry at her, she'd done the right thing. Exactly what he'd expect her to do when being attacked from behind by an unknown assailant. He _was_ angry, though. At _himself_ , and the stiff reminder of his shame still standing at attention in his pants.

Embarrassed, he turned from her, needing a minute to pull himself the fuck together now that the danger had passed. His eyes fell immediately to the lacy blue underthings she'd been holding when he snatched her. Gloating up at him from the floor, they only served to heighten his ardor, his mind flashing images, like old filmstrips -of Beth's perfectly round ass clad in those strips of cloth. _What the fuck was wrong with him?_ He'd been asking that of himself a lot lately.

"Daryl," Beth's voice called to him, a tremor in her voice. "Please let me look at you ...you're bleedin' badly."

Daryl looked down at his leg, his pants were soaked with blood, and now that it was brought to his attention, he could feel it running down his leg and into his boot, hot and sticky. He turned to look at her then, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her blue eyes wide with fright as she took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching for him.

"M'fine," he grumbled, shrugging out of her grasp.

"You're not," she argued with a quick shake of her head.

"Don't matter," he shrugged.

A fierceness he never saw from her before flashed in Beth's eyes, as a sternness seeped into her voice. "It _does_ matter," she snapped. "Now let me help you."

She didn't wait for his permission or acceptance, stomping forward with a confidence and determination he knew would be pointless to argue against. The toe of her boot kicking the lacy blue things out of the way, she hooked her arm under his shoulder, mindful not to get whacked with his crossbow, and assisted him clumsily out of the room and down the stairs.

Gently disengaging herself from him, she swiped the contents of the kitchen island onto the floor, then turned back to him, her expression deadly serious despite her request. "You're gonna have to drop your drawers," she said, eyeing his blood soaked pants.

"What?" Daryl balked. _Absolutely the fuck not._

"I'm serious," Beth insisted, stepping away from the island and looking for something to wedge in the sliding glass doors to secure them. She opened the pantry door, scanning its contents, and reaching for a mop, broke the head off of it, and jammed it in the tracks. It would snap with enough pressure, and he was sure she knew that, but it was clever nonetheless.

Brushing past him, she disappeared into the living room, the sound of locks clicking into place accompanying her voice. "Are you done yet?"

She was giving him privacy. That, he supposed he should be thankful for -not that it mattered, because she was going to see him in his underwear anyway. With a heavy sigh, and not much left that he could do to embarrass himself any further, Daryl un-shouldered his crossbow, reached for his belt buckle, and slid his pants down to his ankles, hissing as the fabric brushed against the torn edges of his flesh. Luckily for him, the blood flow surging to his cock had ceased and it had softened to something a bit more manageable to conceal.

"Yeh," he growled, hoisting himself up on the island and praying it stayed that way.

Beth emerged from the living room, that same grim line of determination set to her jaw. She shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and began digging through it, growing agitated when she couldn't seem to find what she was looking for. With an impatient huff of air, she turned her pack over and dumped its contents onto the counter top, blushing fiercely at the gold foil condom packs that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst her scavenged belongings.

Daryl studied her pink stained cheeks while she plucked what she needed from her stockpile of possessions and lined them up on the counter top. Water, a half empty bottle of mouthwash and the miniature first aid kit she had told him she carried with her on their very first outing. She was uncomfortable too -he could read it in her stance. _Good_ , that made him feel slightly better. _Misery loves company, and all that other bullshit_. She flicked her little mini first aid kit open and tore open an alcohol pad wrapper with her teeth, then used the pad to clean her hands, scrubbing under her fingernails, too.

"Can you turn on your side?" She asked, doing her best to sound professional. Whether it was for his benefit or hers, Daryl wasn't sure, but he did as she bid him, hoping there were no holes in the ass of his boxer shorts, as he rolled onto his left side, while she made her way back around the counter to stand behind him.

Despite the uneasiness he knew she felt, her hands were steady as she twisted the cap of the water bottle off, and poured it over his wound to clean it. Daryl let out a hiss, as she used one of the t-shirts she snagged from upstairs to blot the wound dry, her hands both gentle and sure. Daryl craned his neck, watching as she dipped her head to examine the gash in his leg.

"It looks like a clean cut," she reported to him, her fingers gently prodding the skin around the wound. "Not too deep, but deep enough. You need stitches."

"Ya think?" Daryl shot back sarcastically, one eyebrow winging up into his hairline. "Just get it over with already."

Beth blew out and impatient breath, and pressed her lips together in a scowl, biting back any icy retort that might have been resting on the tip of her tongue for him. He deserved whatever she'd been tempted to toss at him. He knew it -knew he was purposely trying to provoke her into an argument because he was pissed off at himself. He promised Hershel he'd protect his daughter, and here he was, pants around his ankles, splayed out on someone's kitchen counter, getting his leg sewn shut and concentrating on not getting a fucking hard on. _Another_ hard on, his conscience corrected him. _Well thank you very fucking much._

"This is probably gonna sting," Beth said softly, as she twisted the cap off of the Listerine mouth wash.

Daryl could see her tensing up before she even tilted the bottle, already anticipating his reaction ...and "Fuck that smarts," he ground out between clenched teeth, his body vibrating as the liquid seeped into the wound, making him feel like a horde of angry bees were stinging the shit out of his thigh from the inside out. On the bright side, he probably wouldn't need to worry about his dick getting hard for awhile, he thought dryly, as he breathed through the pain.

The irony that he could take a knife in the leg without uttering a sound, yet bitched over a little stinging antiseptic was not lost on him. He was pretty sure it wasn't lost on her either, but Beth remained silent, as she dabbed at the wound again, then thread her needle after running it through the flame of a match. Her tongue peeped out from between her lips as she pinched the torn flesh together and pierced his skin, tugging the needle through as gently as possible.

Daryl fiddled with the corner of his vest, worrying the leather between his fingertips for something to do. Beth had managed to neatly stitch up the outer edge of the wound quickly, but as she worked her way to the center -where the gash was wider and the cut itself deeper, Daryl found himself fidgeting and Beth's patience with him beginning to wear thin.

"Hold still," she scolded him softly, as one might scold an unruly child.

"It hurts," Daryl complained -aware that he sounded very much like a sullen child.

"If you'd just hold still, it wouldn't hurt as _much_ ," Beth tossed back at him, her touch a tad less gentle in her irritation.

Daryl's ire was up now, his voice harsh, his volume rising. "Well, if _you_ wouldn't have knifed me, it wouldn't hurt _at all_."

"Well if _you_ hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have _knifed_ you," Beth shot back without missing a beat.

Daryl's mouth snapped shut, the muscle in his jaw ticking. She was right, and he had been efficiently rendered speechless.

Her tone got more soft as she continued, "My knife was dirty ... I stabbed that Walker earlier ..." She was worried, he could hear the uncertainty dripping from her voice.

Daryl had forgotten about that. It seemed like hours ago, with everything that had happened between now and then. "I ain't gonna turn or nothin'," he said, in a lame attempt to ease her fears, though she was keeping a pretty good reign on them.

"No," she shook her head. "But an infection ... without antibiotics."

"Take a lot more'n some scratch to do me in, Greene."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a brief half smile, but she said nothing, finishing her task in silence. Daryl remained silent too, and seven stitches later- eleven total, Beth was finished. Unwrapping a sterile gauze bandage, she laid it on top of the wound, opting for the ace bandage over the medical tape -which Daryl appreciated, not even wanting to imagine how it would feel to have his hair ripped off in such a sensitive area.

As Beth began to wrap the bandaging around his leg, Daryl became extremely aware of their proximity again. The gentleness of her touch, upon him, the soft rush of her breath on his skin, her hands skimming his inner thighs - _it was too much_. And despite his best efforts to thwart it -to think of _anything_ other than _her_ touching _him_ , he could feel himself becoming aroused again. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as she finished, and tucked the loose end of the bandage snugly into the wrapped layers to fasten it.

"That ought to hold until we get home, and Daddy can have a look at it," she mumbled, straightening up to her full height. "I'll go see if I can find you some pants-"

"Don't need 'em," Daryl cut her off, already pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching towards his ankles so he could hide his shame from her eyes. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain, and he couldn't turn it off. He didn't understand it, and he didn't _like_ it much, neither.

"Daryl, you can't wear those," Beth shook her head. "They're soaked in blood. You wear them outside and you might as well just ring the dinner bell."

She was right. "Fine," he grumbled, waving her off with the flick of his wrist. It was rude, and the hurt he saw reflecting in her eyes was a punch in the gut, as she turned and headed quietly up the stairs.

 _Dammit_ , he just needed some time to himself to think things through. This wasn't her fault -none of it. Considering everything that _had_ gone wrong today, she handled it all like a champ. It was _him_ that was being an asshole. Him and these weird feelings that were floating around in his chest. And ... _other_ places.

Reaching for his boots, he unlaced them, letting them fall to the floor as he hopped down from the counter top, wincing in pain as the jolt from the drop vibrated up his leg. _This was not good_. He couldn't afford to be out of commission when the others depended on him.

"Ya get lost or somthin'?" He called up the stairs, as he stepped out of his pants and kicked them out of the way. They were garbage now, and a damn shame too, because they were one of the few comfortable pairs he owned.

"Not havin' much luck up here," her voice called back. "Be patient, unless you wanna wear a skirt."

Daryl snorted as he limped over to the kitchen sink and retrieved his duffel bag from where he stashed it. He bet she'd like that- the ultimate payback for his smart mouth and bad attitude.

The look on her face was somewhat comical, as Beth returned a few minutes later, holding up a pair of worn purple sweatpants that looked about three sizes smaller than Daryl's frame. "It's all I could find," she shrugged, when he eyed her warily. "Seriously," she insisted. "If you think you can do better, go right ahead," she waved towards the stairs, inviting him to go and see for himself.

"Fine," Daryl sighed, snatching them from her hand. This day just kept gettin' better and better.

He limped into the dinning room and tugged out one of the chairs, Beth following with his boots in hand, as he plopped down unceremoniously and stepped into the stupid pants, grimacing as he dragged the too-tight material up his legs. The hem of the pants stopped about a half an inch from the tops of his socks, making him look as stupid as he felt. Stupider, even.

"It's just temporary," Beth reassured him, attempting to salve his wounded pride as she dropped down to help him put his boots on.

"I can do it," Daryl shooed her away, quickly tugging on his boots and lacing them. "Thanks though," he added, to soften the rejection. She really only was just trying to help -Daryl just wasn't used to relying on anyone for help ... relying on anyone for anything, really.

Beth nodded as she pulled herself back up into a standing position and went back into the kitchen. She had already re-packed her backpack when he joined her a moment later.

"I wanna check the basement quick before we head out," Daryl told her, reaching for his crossbow. "Whatever those two idiots were here for is down there. Maybe this is their stash or somethin'."

"Well if it is, should we really take it?" Beth asked.

"They don't know we're here," Daryl answered, finding it hard to move with the combination of his limp and too-tight pants, he dug in his bag for the flashlight. "Those two idiots ain't gonna last much longer carryin' on like that," he shrugged. "Might as well have a look. You stay here."

"I won't," Beth shook her head no in refusal.

"Dammit Beth, if they come back-"

"What?" Beth demanded. "I'm supposed to take off and leave you behind? _No_. We go together, or not at all." She had that fierce look in her eyes again, lips slightly pursed and her jaw set stubbornly.

"Fine," Daryl shot back, annoyed that yet again, he couldn't think of a more catchy comeback to throw at her other than that. Damn woman was wreaking havoc on his brain today ...among _other_ things.

Swinging open the basement door, Daryl flicked the flashlight on and handed it to Beth, as he raised his crossbow out in front of him and proceeded slowly down the stairs, doing his best to ignore the ache in his leg. Beth stayed close, holding the flashlight high above them to light their way, moving patiently in-step behind him.

It was a typical basement, with a washer and dryer at the foot of the staircase, and a water heater in the far corner with some boxes stacked around it. Daryl didn't see anything worth taking, as Beth shone the light around the room.

"Guess whatever it was, they already took it," she voiced Daryl's own thoughts with a sigh.

"Guess so," Daryl agreed, turning to follow her back upstairs when the beam of the flashlight reflected off of something between the boards of the stairs and caught his eye. "Hold up," he called to her, walking around the side of the basement stairs.

Beth followed him, her light illuminating a metal shelf beneath the stairs stacked with mason jars mostly filled with a clear liquid. "What is it?" She asked him.

"Moonshine," Daryl answered, then began pointing to the jars and rattling off what they were. "Pickles, red beets, fruit preserves -ohh, grab those," he pointed to a large jar of pickled pigs feet.

"Eww," Beth said, but reached for the jar anyway. She grabbed a few of each of them, bending to stuff them into her bag, and announcing she was out of room.

Daryl swung his crossbow around to his back and filled his arms with a few more jars. "I've got plenty room in mine. Grab what you can carry."

"Shouldn't we leave some?" Beth asked. Even two stupid foul mouthed idiots couldn't escape the lengths of her compassion.

"Alright," Daryl nodded in agreement. "They likely were here for the moonshine, though."

"What's it doin' here anyway?" Beth asked.

"Dunno," Daryl shrugged, his arms full of mason jars, he began limping his way back to the stairs, noting that he was starting to feel warm in the confines of the stuffy basement. "C'mon."

By the time he crested the top of the basement stairs, Daryl was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her eyes like a hawk, Beth noticed immediately. Unloading her armful of jars onto the counter top, she was instantly at his side, her hand sweeping against his brow.

"Your burnin' up!" She cried, tripping over herself to get to inside her bag, she dug through it, jars clanging, and foul words spilling from her pretty mouth as she searched for whatever the hell she was looking for.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just a little warm in here."

Beth ignored his protests, mumbling something inaudible, as she finally yanked free what she was looking for. A bottle of Tylenol that she'd looted from the upstairs bathroom. Twisting off the child proof cap, she dumped three capsules into her trembling hand and held them out to him.

"I'm tellin' you, I'm fi-" The look she gave him had him closing his mouth as quickly as he'd opened it, as Daryl grabbed the pills and threw them back, swallowing them dry.

"I'm gonna go get the truck," she announced, stuffing the mason jars into his duffel bag, and heaving it onto her shoulder.

Now _that_ , was an argument worth havin'. "No fucking way," Daryl shook his head.

"Daryl, I _can_ do it," Beth insisted, that stubborn set to her jaw once again, like she was out to show the world that anything anyone said she _couldn't_ do, _she was gonna_ -just to prove them wrong.

"I _know_ you can," Daryl replied with just as much insistence. He wasn't lying, neither. He hadn't doubted her before, but after today, he was gonna make damn sure no one else did, either. _Ever_.

"But you said so yourself," he breathed, leaning forward -and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for a golden curl that had slipped from her ponytail. Pinching it between his fingertips, he mused at how soft the silken strands felt before tucking them back behind her ear. "We go together, or not at all."

He could see the fear in her eyes, her pulse that beat rapidly against the skin of her throat, and Daryl didn't protest -didn't pull away, as she captured his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek. Instead, he stroked the softness of her skin lightly with his thumb, as she leaned into his palm and nodded her head.

"Together, or not at all," she whispered in agreement.

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome weekenders! A busy week and lots to dish on this chapter, now that we're back in Daryl's head (which is admittedly, one of my favorite places to be). This chapter is a special one for me because the premise for it actually inspired this entire story -Beth and Daryl hiding trapped in a closet, and his Beth-inflicted wound ...but mainly their arguing while she stitched him up, which was inspired very much by one of my favorite scenes in Disney's animated classic, Beauty and the Beast (whom Daryl and Beth remind me of in many ways).**

 **So, on that note - please let me know your thoughts in the comments!**

 **Happy Mother's Day to all you gorgeous mommies (fur babies count too)! See you next week!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - It Must Be Your Skin, I'm Sinking In**

 _It must be your skin,_

 _I'm sinking in._

It must be for real,

'Cause now I can feel.

And I didn't mind,

It's not my kind,

It's not my time to wonder why.

"Glycerine" - Bush

* * *

Daryl pushed on, fighting the throbbing in both his head and leg, the Tylenol having not made one bit of a damn difference. He didn't tell that to Beth, though. He kept it to himself, as she trudged along, by his side, carrying twice her own weight on her back and shoulders, and holding him up steady, to boot. She didn't complain -didn't stop to rest, despite her labored breathing, and the sweat that slicked her body, catching the sun's rays through the trees like diamonds glistening off her skin.

 _And suddenly he was a fucking poet?_ Daryl shook his head in an attempt to clear his cluttered thoughts -if she could go on, so could he. They were almost at the truck now, anyway.

"Almost there," she grunted, readjusting his duffel bag on her shoulder.

He wondered how she knew that, then saw it too -the red gleaming of the truck's brake lights, standing out like a beacon amidst the greens and browns of the surrounding forest. He'd have to camouflage it better next time.

"Go on," he urged her, trying to disengage himself from her grasp without losing his balance. "I'm good."

The truck was only a short distance away, he could make it on his own. But still, she persisted, hanging onto him like her life depended on it. Or maybe his. Daryl Dixon, who didn't rely on anyone for anything ...

It took longer than he expected to cover the relatively short distance to the truck, as Beth let his heavy duffel bag slide off her shoulder and to the ground, gently though -so she didn't break any of the mason jars inside. Daryl leaned heavily on the tailgate, feeling suddenly dizzy, and only just now remembering that neither of them had eaten a drop of food today, and that was probably why.

"Just give me a second," Beth said, gripping the tailgate and hoisting herself up and into the bed of the pickup truck with minimal effort.

It was hard not to appreciate her physicality, the curvature of her muscular arms -strong and toned, and Daryl remembered that time in the grass when she'd popped up with relative ease. Beth Greene was not the sheltered, spoiled girl he had once thought her to be way back on those first days on the farm. Now that he'd come to know the Greene's, it was clear that Hershel may have not denied his girls much of anything, but they were no strangers to the value and importance of a hard day's work.

Daryl snorted, picturin' Beth and Maggie wrangling pigs in a pen, overalls muddy, straw hats tucked on their heads and pieces of wheat in their teeth. Maggie, maybe just a tad bit tougher, but Beth would definitely be the one with the sassy mouth, throwing insults at the pigs while they sloughed through the mud. He couldn't remember if he'd seen pigs on the Greene farm?

"Daryl, you okay?" Beth asked from where she was crouched in the truck, making room in the plastic storage bin to safely secure some of their haul. She was watching him, her wide blue eyes glued to his face.

He blinked at her in confusion, then realized that he'd been laughing out loud. "I'm good," Daryl shook his head. "Just this damn day gettin' to me, Greene." Or maybe the fucking too-tight stupid purple pants were cutting off his circulation and depriving his brain of oxygen, but he kept that part to himself.

Stretching back up to her full height, Beth braced one arm on the side of the truck and jumped out, scooting Daryl over so she could lower the tailgate. With a grunt, she heaved his heavy duffel bag onto the truck's bed and moving quickly, transferred the mason jars into the bin, sealed it, then wedged his duffel bag between the bin and the gas can before securing it all with the bungee cord.

"C'mon," Beth said, slamming the tailgate closed and then looping her arm through his, guided him to the passenger side door.

"I'm drivin'," Daryl argued as she helped him un-shoulder his crossbow and carefully shoved him into the passenger seat, knowing full well that he wasn't, but feeling the need to take a stand nonetheless. "You even got a drivers license, girl?"

Beth ignored him, gently pushing his legs into the truck, mindful of his wound, and shut the door. She looked exhausted -mentally and physically, as she wrapped her arms around the base of the giant tree limb and began tugging it backwards and out of the way -slowly, face red and muscles straining with the effort, but she moved it. As he watched her determination, Daryl got to thinkin' Beth Greene could probably move mountains if she wanted to.

Climbing behind the steering wheel, Beth dropped her backpack onto the seat and dug out their bottle of water. Pushing it into his hands, she urged him to drink, as she leaned over him to secure his safety belt, then turned the key in the ignition and maneuvered the truck out of the tight spot.

"Leave it," Daryl discouraged her from getting out to drag the branch back into place. "Ain't nothin' else here worth comin' back for anyway," he shrugged, handing her back the water bottle.

"Finish it," she shook her head in refusal, reaching to fasten her own seat belt.

As Beth mashed the gas pedal, and the scenery began whizzing by in a dizzying blur, Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the pain and nausea. His tongue felt like sand paper, despite finishing off the last of their water -guiltily so. He knew he needed to stay alert, give Beth the proper directions back to the prison ...but somehow, she knew the way.

* * *

Daryl startled to the sound of the truck horn announcing their arrival as they came upon the prison gates. He must've fallen asleep, as he couldn't recall much of anything of the ride back. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry he couldn't seem to find his voice and his whole leg was throbbing. Beth mumbled something inaudible, her hand reaching to press against his fevered brow, and Daryl leaned into her comforting touch, her cool skin providing some relief to the scorching heat of his flesh.

As the gates slid open, Beth romped on the gas peddle, fish tailing the truck and kicking up rocks, as she sped up the gravel road to the prison, her hand laying on the horn so she could alert the others that something was wrong. Rick and Carl were already running towards the truck as Beth threw it into park and jumped out of the drivers seat.

"Go get Hershel!" Rick yelled to Carl, as Beth tore open the passenger side door. "What happened?"

"He's cut. I think it's infected," Beth explained. "I - I stitched him up-"

Rick nodded, slipping his arm under Daryl's shoulder and gripping his back so he could slide him out of the passenger seat. His injured leg hit the pavement first, sending a spark of pain like angry fire ants shooting up his entire body, and Daryl yowled in pain. And then Glenn was there too, his arm coming up to take the weight off of Daryl's other side, and together they half carried-half dragged him into the prison, Beth flanking them a step behind, shaking off her sisters frantic questioning.

"I'll go find Bob too," Maggie yelled from behind them, turning and heading towards the other cell block when it was clear she wasn't going to get any answers from Beth in her current state of mind.

"Put him in my cell," Hershel's voice, calm and soothing despite the chaos, ordered from somewhere nearby.

Daryl grunted, the pain keeping him fully alert now, as every step they took felt like a knife plunging into the deepest part of his wound. He saw the flash of a blonde ponytail as Beth skirted around them and quickly threw an extra blanket over her father's cot before Rick and Glenn eased him down onto the mattress.

"I'll need some water," Hershel informed them, as he began rolling up hid sleeves. "And some clean cloth. Tell Bob we need medicine. Antibiotics, pain relievers, tell him to bring me anything he has left."

Glenn nodded, already on his way out of the cell to do Hershel's bidding, as Rick gently tugged Beth out of the way, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Daryl tried not to look at her -the deer in headlights expression on her face putting a gnawing ache in his gut that hurt far more than the stitched up gash in his leg. Instead, he focused on Hershel, mimicking Beth's earlier actions of disinfecting his hands with an alcohol pad, before sliding the chair in the corner of his cell to the bedside and seating himself, a pair of scissors in hand.

"Hope you're not too modest," a lopsided grin peeped through his white beard, as he lifted the purple fabric and cut it away from Daryl's leg. "Bethy, grab that bottle of water over there," he nodded to the shelf behind him. "Now scoot behind me and give him some. Slow sips," he added.

Beth did as he asked, kneeling down beside the cot, she tucked her hand behind Daryl's neck and tilted the bottle to his lips while Rick assisted in gently lifting his leg as Hershel began to unravel the ace bandage.

Daryl sipped greedily, wanting to down the bottle in a gulp to ease his parched throat, but he could feel the liquid sloshing around in his empty stomach, threatening to come back up, so he paced himself. Hershel had already unraveled the ace bandaging, and was gently prying the gauze from atop the angry wound, as Beth eased Daryl's head gently back to the pillow, and smoothed her hands across his fevered brow affectionately.

"How did this happen?" Hershel asked, inspecting the wound and Beth's tidy stitches. There was no pus, only a bit of crusty dried blood, but the outer edges were an angry red -a telltale sign of the start of an infection.

"I sliced him with my knife," Beth answered, her voice dripping with the guilt she carried like a scarlet letter emblazoned on her chest. "My knife was dirty ...I'd downed a Walker with it and only rubbed it clean in the dirt-"

"It was an accident," Daryl growled, interrupting Beth, his first instinct to protect her -even from herself.

"Of course it was," Hershel nodded, pointing to his shelf to indicate the supplies he needed from Rick. "Did you disinfect-"

"I used Listerine, and cleaned my hands first, and I sterilized the needle," Beth rambled on about the precautions she'd taken in caring for his cut. "I also gave him Tylenol. Three capsules, two hundred milligrams."

"Didn't help?" Hershel asked, although it was more of a statement than a question, as the fact that it didn't was very much evident.

"No," Daryl grunted.

"Might have been expired," Hershel suggested. "But don't you worry," he cracked a smile as he pat Daryl on the shoulder. "Bob's got some good stuff to help fix you up, and we'll get that fever down."

Glenn and Carol materialized in the doorway, Carol with a stack of folded cloths and Glenn with one of their gallon jugs of water they used for cooking, and a large pot. Rick stepped aside, allowing them entrance, immediately reaching for the pot so Glenn could pour some of the water in for Hershel.

"Bobs coming," Glenn said. "He's gathering all the meds he has left."

Hershel nodded, dipping one of the clean cloths in the tepid water, he wrung it out and handed it to Beth, then reached for another to use to clean the dried blood off of the wound. The cell block remained deathly quiet, as those in attendance worried silently as they watched him work.

Needing no instruction, Beth folded the cloth and pressed it to Daryl's face, gently blotting the beads of sweat off of his skin and neck. He sighed as the trifecta of water, air and her soothing touch combined to provide him a few moments temporary relief from the raging inferno coursing through his body. Sweeping back the sweat soaked hair that was plastered to his brow, she laid the rag to rest on his forehead, but continued pushing her fingertips through his tousled hair, while Hershel finished cleaning up the wound. Daryl immersed himself in Beth's touch, oblivious to those who stood around him, even as Bob and Maggie joined them in the cramped cell.

"Septicemia?" Bob asked Hershel, as he dropped to his knees beside the cot and emptied his armful of bottles onto the foot of the bed, noting the angry red streaks on the outside of Daryl's stitched flesh.

"That's what I'm thinking," Hershel nodded. "The wound is otherwise clean, but he's feverish."

"Septicemia?" Rick asked. "What's that?"

"A bacteria infection that's seeped into the bloodstream," Hershel explained. "Similar to what T-Dog suffered when he was first brought to the farm before we stitched him up."

Bob began flipping through his pill bottles, a grim expression on his face as he handed a bottle to Hershel. "This is all I have left."

"So just gimme the damn antibiotics," Daryl growled, suddenly feeling impatient and claustrophobic in the tight space, with everyone's eyes on him.

"It's not quite that simple son," Hershel shook his head after studying the bottle. "The antibiotics you had -Merle's. They were broad spectrum antibiotics."

"What's the difference?" Carol asked, her voice strained with the same impatience as she bent to rummage through the apparently useless bottles at the bottom of the bed.

"We have no more broad spectrum," Bob answered. "Doxycycline is for specific bacteria and protozoa. Without a lab, the ability to run tests, the only way to narrow down what the specific bacteria could be is through trial and error. That takes time and resources. We have neither ..." he let his voice trail off, letting the implication speak for itself.

Daryl blinked stupidly, letting the weight of that sentence sink in. The infection had set in fast, even with his brain muddled from the fever, he knew that wasn't a good sign, but ... _death_? "Ain't no little scratch takin' me out," he hissed.

"Of course not," Hershel laid a comforting hand on his knee, giving it a pat as the cell erupted in noise, everyone talking at once as they scrambled for a solution and what route to take.

"Now everyone just calm down," Rick's voice boomed above the din. "Hershel, if it's the right bacteria, or whatever, how long until we'd know it's workin'?"

"About twenty four hours," Bob chimed in, with Hershel nodding confirmation. He twisted off the cap and emptied the bottle onto his palm so he could count the pills. "I've got six left. Not quite a full course, but it's a start," he shrugged, scooping the pills back into the bottle and handing them to Hershel. "I've got some Tylenol with codeine that won't counteract, but he can't take them on an empty stomach."

"I'm on it," Carol raised her hand up, as she squeezed through the crowd.

"Something light," Bob called after her.

Daryl groaned, the thought of eating was already making the bile in his empty stomach churn. What he really wanted was those pain meds and a damn cigarette -and the one he wanted _most_ was unattainable for the time being. Everyone leaving him the hell alone so he could sulk in peace would be nice, too.

"Alright everyone, shows over," Hershel announced, as if he sensed Daryl's need for some space. "I need to bandage my patient back up."

The crowd dispersed, some lingering outside of the cell, so Rick lowered the sheet to give them some privacy. Daryl blew out an impatient breath, the heat of his skin and the pain in his leg becoming intolerable -even Beth's attempts to comfort him were only agitating him more, her cloth long ago warmed from his body's rising temperature.

"I brought some antibiotic ointment too," Bob said, fishing the tube from his pocket and placing it on the bed.

"Thanks Bob. I'll send for you if I need anything else," Hershel dismissed him with a smile as Bob took his leave.

Opening up a fresh gauze package, Hershel reached for the ointment tube and squeezed a generous amount onto the pad, before pressing it to Daryl's wound. Although his hands were gentle, Daryl still hissed at the contact, the pain sensors of his brain on high alert.

"Bethy, can you give us a few minutes?" Hershel asked, as he began wrapping fresh gauze bandaging around Daryl's upper thigh. "We're gonna divest Daryl from his stylish pants," he explained, cracking a slight smile at his own corny joke. "Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up and see how Carol's making out with that food?"

Beth merely nodded, pulling herself up, she made her way to the doorway without uttering a word, the washcloth still clenched in her hand. She didn't look at him, as she passed through the sheet ...she didn't have to for Daryl to know what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. He was no stranger to self loathing -he'd been doing it to himself for years and had mastered the craft long ago.

Hershel sensed it too -although he never looked up from his task, he heaved a heavy sigh as the sheet dropped. "Rick, do you think you can go rustle up a clean t-shirt for Daryl?"

With a dip of his head, Rick waited for Hershel to tuck the ends of the bandage, then gently lowered Daryl's leg and took his own leave.

"She'll be fine," Hershel said when they were finally alone. "She's gonna need to take care of you, see ya through this because she feels responsible," he elaborated a bit more, picking up the scissors and cutting away the sweatpants. "And you're gonna _need_ to let her, son." He spoke with the same firm, yet gentle tone he always used -confident in his own wisdom.

Daryl kept quiet, lifting the hem of his shirt so Hershel could grip the waistband and cut the remaining tethers of the constricting purple monstrosity of so-called pants away from him. He didn't even wonder how the old man could have known his thoughts were on his youngest daughter -Hershel just knew, _always knew_ what was going on around him ...even if he wasn't really paying attention. Even if that didn't make a lick of fucking sense right now -Daryl just _knew_ he knew.

Truthfully -not much of _anything_ was making a lot of sense lately. Not last night, and _especially_ not this morning. And _dammit_ , he really just didn't want to think about it right now while his brain was fucked and his body was broken, but _neither_ were cooperating with him at _all_ , apparently.

"Room service," Carol called jovially from the doorway.

Daryl scrambled to cover himself with the tattered remnants of his purple pants, thankful when Hershel dropped a folded towel in his lap, then called Carol in.

"Sorry it took so long," she mumbled, handing him a bowl of some fruit cocktail mixture and a spoon. "I wanted to chill it a bit, help soothe the fever," she finished, in way of explanation. "How you feelin', Pookie?"

Hershel stepped beside her and handed Daryl the two capsules. "Better as soon as these start to kick in."

Daryl popped the pills and forsaking the spoon, tilted the bowl to his lips and drank the chunks of fruit down, just wanting some form of relief and lacking an appetite despite his empty stomach. The chilled fruit did help with the aching dryness of his throat, so for that he was grateful and offered Carol a lopsided grin as thanks, handing the bowl back to her.

"I have to go start dinner for everyone, but I'll be back to check on you in a bit," she said, dropping the spoon into the empty bowl.

"He'll be sleepin' it off soon enough", Hershel said, placing his hand on the small of Carol's back and following her out into the hallway.

Daryl leaned back into the pillow and let his eyes fall closed, doing his best not to think about the throbbing pain in his leg, and the stifling heat of the cell. A few moments later and he was already starting to feel the effects of the medication, as the fuzziness settled into his brain and he teetered on that precipice of consciousness. He saw when Rick came back -was vaguely aware that he and Hershel had stripped him of his wings and sweaty t-shirt and tugged a clean one on in its place. Aware when Beth returned, and settled into the chair in the corner, her wide blue eyes flicking between him and the inside of her bag as she rifled through its contents and pulled out the prescription pill bottles she'd looted from the house earlier.

"Daddy," her voice soft and muffled, sounded far away, as if Daryl was listening through a closed door. "What's ampicillin?"

He didn't hear Hershel's reply, but whatever it was had her blue eyes lighting up with a warmth that radiated across the room and buried itself straight into his chest ...a happiness he _felt_ as clearly as he saw. It was the last thing he remembered before he slipped into oblivion, and the dreams that haunted him -the ones he fought so hard to keep away, snagged him in their tethers.

But this one was different somehow... And he noticed that immediately, as the dry breeze lifted the hair off the back of his neck.

Daryl sat perched on the lower limb of a hulking tree. This wasn't odd -he often sought comfort and solitude in the low hanging branches of the trees that surrounded his home ... _or rather_ , the place that he lived. It wasn't a home -hadn't been in years, i _f it ever was at all_. He wasn't in the forest though, and although vaguely familiar, this wasn't one of the usual trees he haunted.

Hoping down from the tree branch he was perched on, Daryl took in his surroundings and recognition of where he was suddenly hit him. The big barn looming in the distance, even though he had watched it burn to the ground -was unmistakable, although the wooden planks weren't yet old and worn with time and age ...Daryl stood on the Greene family farm.

He heard her before he saw her -giggling wildly as she ran past the tree, oblivious to him. Pigtails bouncing with her gait, held up by cornflower blue ribbon that matched the apron dress she wore, little Beth Greene rushed by, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

"No peeking, Shawn!" She yelled, sparing a glance over her shoulder before darting somewhere behind the barn.

Daryl spared that same glance over his shoulder, wondering who she was talking to, as there wasn't another person in sight, as far as he could see. With a shrug, he rubbed the bark splinters still stuck to his palms on the knees of his dinosaur pajamas and took off after her. _He knew exactly where she was headed_.

He rounded the barn just in time to see her disappear into the corn stalks, "Beth!" He called after her. "Wait!"

But he was too late, she hadn't heard him. Daryl pushed himself to run faster, his bare feet stomping through the high grass, and then suddenly he was pressing through cornstalks with no memory of entering the fields. The husks scratched his face, as he stumbled forward, following the impressions from Beth's little Mary Jane shoes.

 _How had she managed to get so far in? He was right behind her ..._

Little muffled sobs -that's how he eventually found her. Her tiny hands swiping at her tears, she tried to be brave as she faced him. "Who are you?"

"Your guardian angel," Daryl rolled his eyes, trying to act tough -as tough as one in beat up dinosaur pajamas could be. "C'mon", he reached for one of her hands, "we need to go this way."

She eyed him apprehensively for a moment before deciding he was probably her best bet and gave him her hand, slipping her little fingers between his and locking them together. Daryl looked down at their entwined fingers -just for a moment, then started navigating them out of the corn.

Clinging tightly to his outstretched hand with both of hers, Beth followed behind, her wide blue eyes darting about at every little snap and rustle of the cornstalks surrounding them. Daryl paid them no mind, trudging forward and intending to get her back to the farm safe and sound, and as quickly as possible.

The wind picked up, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of decay, thick and rancid, it swirled around them, and Daryl slowed his pace, his steps less sure. Faintly, he swore he could hear his name -just a whisper in the breeze, as the mud beneath them made it harder and harder to walk, squishing between his toes.

The wind suddenly stopped, an eerie stillness replacing it, like a harbinger of danger, and this time there was no mistaking his name. " _Daaaarrrryyylll_ ," it slithered through the stalks, coiling around them like a serpent, and set the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up.

Together, they broke into a run, fighting the muck under foot sucking at their feet, as if trying to hold them in place for whatever was lurking unseen in the corn. Twice Beth stumbled, too frightened to cry, her little legs working twice as hard to keep up with Daryl's longer strides, he slowed, half dragging her, as the single voice split into many. A chorus of venomous hissing weaving between the stalks, it surrounded them, rising to a crescendo of growling moans, so deafening it drove them both to their knees, hands clasping over their ears to drown out the horrible symphony.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Daryl shook his head, driving the voices out and forced his eyes open, the instinct to protect Beth stronger than the will of his own self preservation. Struggling for air on her knees beside him, it was no longer little six year old Beth with blue ribbons in her hair, but a very adult Beth, in the throes of a panic attack.

"In and out slowly," Daryl yelled as loudly as he could over the arsenal of sounds swirling around them, reaching to place a comforting hand on her back.

 _Crack!_ The unexpected force of the blow dropped Daryl straight to his belly, face-planting him into the bubbling mud beneath him and muffling his cry of pain. _Crack!_ _Crack! Crack!_ The belt bit into his flesh, the voices fading into the corn until all Daryl could hear was the whir of the leather cutting through the air before it connected against his naked back, and the faint sounds of Beth sobbing beside him.

And this was who he was - _a goddamn pussy_ , just like Merle always said. Laying here like a bitch and letting his dad beat him down night after night and just wishing for the strength to break away like his brother had, but _never_ doing a fucking thing about it. He was no hero, no one to look up to, no one to idolize. Just a _nobody_. A _nothin'_.

The leather hummed as it sliced through the air, and Daryl bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation, bracing for the impact but it never came. _Crack!_ The sound reverberated through his skull as Beth screamed in agony beside him, amidst his father's maniacal laughter.

"Noooo!" Daryl bellowed, _not her_! He would not allow his own filthy demons to taint her -to twist and pervert her innocence and goodness. With an inhuman growl, Daryl twisted around and lunged at their unseen assailant, grunting as his body collided with an unyielding solid wall.

Daryl slid to the ground, confusion muddling his brain as he up blinked at the flickering fluorescent lights swinging overhead. _Where the fuck was he? And Beth ...where was Beth?_ The smell of cigarette smoke and booze hung heavy and thick like a veil, polluting the air around him, amplifying the dizzying effect of the rowdy crowd and the jukebox blaring honky-tonk music in the corner.

"Beth ..." Daryl groaned her name, as a pair of hands grabbed him by the the vest and hauled him up from the floor.

"Have a lil' too much ta drink there, baby brother?" Merle laughed, slapping Daryl on the shoulder and releasing him to teeter and find his footing on his own.

"Merle?" Daryl blinked at his big brother in disbelief.

"The hell else would it be?" Merle guffawed. "An' quit lookin' at me like ya wanna kiss me or somthin', huh? It's your move," he thrust the pool stick he was holding into Daryl's hands.

Hesitantly, Daryl stepped forward and took the pool cue, testing its weight before bending over the pool table and calling and making his shot. How easy it was to slip back into his old routine ...

"Pfft," Merle scoffed, rolling his eyes and leaning against the bar at his back. "Lucky shot."

"Watch me do it again," Daryl shrugged, bending to take his next shot, "Six ball, corner pocket," he called it, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the white cue ball cracked into the green number six ball and sent it careening into the called pocket.

"Show off," Merle growled, tilting a beer bottle to his lips. "Surprised ya can handle balls so well, beings ya ain't got a pair of yer own."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daryl asked, clearing the table.

Merle shook his head, "Weren't bad enough ya became Officer Friendly's bitch, but lil' blondie now, too?"

"I ain't nobody's bitch," Daryl growled, dropping the pool stick onto the table.

Merle pushed away from the bar, thrusting the beer bottle into Daryl's hands as he racked the pool balls, and reached for the discarded pool stick. "Don't be mad baby brother," he cooed, as he bent down and reared his arm back, thrusting the pool cue forward with enough force to break up the balls. "Just tell me," he said, straightening up and sauntering around the pool table, looking for his next shot. "Old MacDonald know ya puttin' the wood ta his little girl?" Merle stroked the tip of the pool stick suggestively with a crude laugh.

"I didn't touch her," Daryl ground out, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Oh, but ya did! Had you're hands runnin' all over that baby smooth skin, just a hop, skip an' a jump away from those lil' bee stings under her blouse," he continued to goad Daryl, pinching his own nipple as he threw his head back and laughed harder.

"Shut you're fucking mouth Merle," Daryl warned him, taking a step forward. "Why you always gotta be such a damn jerk?"

"You're too sensitive Darleena," Merle shook his head. "Time with the Get-Along-Gang makin' ya soft? I ain't got nothin' against lil' ol' blondie. Shit, she's probably the only one there didn't look at me like I was the third horseman of the apocalypse."

"Just quit runnin' your damn mouth," Daryl bristled, tossing the beer bottle back and draining its contents.

Merle nodded his head in approval. " _Whoooo-eeee_! That's it baby brother!" He bent down to take his shot, and missed. Cursing, he tossed the pool stick back on top of the pool table before turning and heading back to the bar to grab another beer.

The jukebox began playing Lynryd Skynryd's Free Bird, as Merle bobbed his head to the whining sounds of the guitar, then turned back to face Daryl - _only it wasn't actually Merle_. Not anymore. Eyes bloodshot and glassy, blood dripping from his chin and the gunshot hole in his chest, Walker Merle stumbled towards him, running right into the pool table. "How's about that kiss now, Darleena?" He snapped his jaws.

Daryl shrunk back against the far wall, dropping the beer bottle -suspended in slow motion, it floated to the floor and then shattered to pieces, sending shards of glass spraying in all directions. A sob working its way up his throat, Daryl shook his head violently. _No. Not again ..._

The room around him began to spin as it filled with the hungry growls of the dead, and Daryl bent to retrieve one of the shards of glass, squeezing it in his fist so hard, it cut deep into his flesh, inciting Merle's bloodlust. They lunged for each other simultaneously, Merle's jaws snapping at his face, as Daryl shoved him to the ground and buried the shard of glass right into his eye socket.

Merle's body went instantly limp beneath him, as the jukebox played on ... " _Cuz I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change_ ..."

Daryl's eyes flew open to the blackness of the cell block draped in night, the lyrics of the song still ringing in his ears as he tried to separate his dream from reality and sit up in the bed, but something was restricting his movements.

 _It was Beth_. Her strong arms, woven tightly around him, and her little body tucked up against the length of his back, spooning him.

"Shhh," she hugged him tighter, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder blades. "It's okay, it was just a bad dream. I'm here."

Suddenly, the urge to look at her was overwhelming. It slammed into him with a force so strong, it was physically painful, throbbing in his chest with the same tenacity of his thundering heartbeat, and robbed him of his breath. _Here_. She _was_ here.

Wrestling with the blanket that was tangled around him, Daryl rolled himself over, focusing on the outline of Beth's features shrouded in the shadows. Fully alert, she lifted herself up off the blanket, releasing him from its confines.

"Daryl?" She whispered, reaching to brush the hair back from his eyes, unsure why he was thrashing about in the bed. "I'm so sorry I did this to you," Her quiet voice was thick and overflowing with emotion.

Daryl didn't answer her. Even if he could find his voice, he hadn't a fucking clue what to say. That she was here ...was _everything_ -even if he didn't really know what that meant.

 _And he didn't_.

He clung to her as if his life depended on it, burying his face in her neck and drew in a ragged breath, exhaling it in a whimper. He'd regret this in the morning -he knew it, but as her arms encircled him again, and her fingers threaded through his hair, Daryl put tomorrow out of his mind, and focused only on the now.

And when sleep found him again, there were no nightmares to be found in the comfort of Beth Greene's arms.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi guys! Apologies for the week delay on this update. After writing up most of it, I decided to scrap it and completely start over.**

 **So, a couple of things about this chapter:**

 **I don't pretend to know anything about pharmaceuticals -I did some mild research to make it at least probable, so forgive any inaccuracies, as I'm taking a little literary licensing here. ;)**

 **As for Daryl's fever induced dream/nightmare; I realize that he and Beth are (at the very least) ten to twelve years apart, so it would make no sense that while she was six (her age at the time of the cornfield trauma) that he was only an eleven year old boy -he'd be well into his teens when Bethy was a tot, however - _it is a dream_ , and since Daryl's dreams seem to revolve mostly around his child self, that's what I stuck with. **

**Hershel - whether or not he is aware of any blossoming romance between his daughter and our rugged heart throb, he's definitely aware of the close bonded friendship that is forming, which is why he is encouraging Daryl to let Beth care for him. Not only to help Beth work through her own guilt, but to help Daryl work through his, as I'm pretty sure that Hershel knows that no matter who is at fault, Daryl will twist it around to make it fit upon his own shoulders.**

 **I struggled with this chapter a lot ...more than I care to admit, to be honest. My first instinct was to have Daryl distance himself from Beth while he works out these confusing feelings that he doesn't understand -but then ... well ...**

 **That is all.**

 **Comments/questions? You know where they go ...**


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Oh my friends, so much has happened in the last few weeks, and I have much to spill! Before you dive into this two-chapter update, (yes, that's right -there's another update coming in a few hours), can we take a moment to celebrate that this chapter update breaks 50k words for TWF, which is a HUGE milestone for me only 9-10 chapters in, since FTA complete was only 150k words! So yay!**_

 _ **I don't want to spoil, so catch up with me at the end, for a bit more in-depth explanation.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 9 - I Stand A Hundred Feet, But I Fall When I'm Around You**

You've got a hold on me,

Don't even know your power.

 _I stand a hundred feet,_

 _But I fall when I'm around you ..._

"Mercy" -Shawn Mendes

* * *

 _Warmth_. It wasn't just a physical state, but a _feeling_ deep down inside... contentment that transcended anything logical he'd ever experienced before. It coiled around him, heavy yet weightless, soothing and serene, in a tangle of petite limbs and golden hair. _Entirely_ _Beth_ -like an orb of light, she was the source, and it radiated from her, seeping straight into the marrow of his bones, as Daryl blinked away the fog of sleep.

Rocking with the gentle ebb and flow of her breathing, his head still pillowed on her chest, Daryl remained perfectly still, listening to the rhythmic beating of her heart, as he feigned sleep, loathe to move. His reasons were entirely selfish, but since the dawn had only just broke, and the prison still remained somewhat dark and quiet, he found that he simply didn't care.

And he'd come to that conclusion a lot lately, he realized -and it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fever, despite his weak attempt at rationalizations. His temperature was normal, the fever long gone. The heat bathing his body centered completely around the intimate way he and Beth were locked together in slumber, their limbs entwined almost _familiarly_ , as if it was perfectly normal.

 _It felt that way._

It felt ... _a lot of things_ ...things he didn't have a name for, things he didn't really want to label anyway. If he gave it a name, then that would make it real -and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face _that_ reality yet. He wasn't even sure he knew exactly _what_ that reality was ...

He cared for her. He wasn't stupid enough to dare deny it. He cared for a lot of people, though ...Rick, Carol, Judith, Glenn -all of his rag-tag adopted family. _But this was different_ , Beth _was_ different, and he wasn't stupid enough to dare deny that, either.

Beth shifted slightly, momentarily interrupting Daryl from his thought process, as the silky smoothness of one of her legs brushed against the coarse hairiness of his. _Also, none of them made his dick hard_ , his thoughts continued, as his body became physically more aware of the soft curves that lay trapped beneath him in the tiny cot that was made for one.

 _And that was even more perplexing._

Daryl was _not_ a horny teenager. Couldn't even remember the last time he'd had sex, because truthfully, sex never really mattered to him -at least not to the extent that he thought it maybe _should_ have. Sure, he'd bedded any pretty barfly Merle shoved his way, but mainly just to save face -keep up the appearance that he was just as hot-blooded male as any of them. It was something he struggled internally with ... _why_ he never had the urges, the yearnings Merle often bitched about after long periods of not "getting laid" -when he'd stomp off all surly-like to the bathroom with his wrinkled worn out copy of Hustler.

And it wasn't as if Daryl was incapable of sex -everything worked just fine down _there_ ...and he was well aware of the mechanics. He'd figured out over time what women liked, learned how to get 'em there, to hold back until they were satisfied first ...and sure, it felt good. The thing was, he was only ever aroused in the act -he'd never gotten hard just by _thinkin'_ about someone, or by just being near them.

 _Until Beth._

Even now, just her closeness -breathing in the strawberry scent of her skin, her legs all tangled with his, was causing him to harden uncomfortably beneath the blanket.

It fucking terrified him for a multitude of reasons -mainly because he didn't understand it, couldn't fathom what made Beth so different. But he _did_ know, and that fucking terrified him too ...Beth was different because she _was_ different. Inherently so.

A walking contradiction -the girl who scolded him for being mouthy and stitched him up with steely determination, yet would not let him kill a nesting duck that day by the pond. The girl who protected herself and gouged him with her blade without a second thought, yet didn't want to completely clear out the stash of those two drunk dumbasses. The girl who had folded him in her arms, offering solace and placing his needs above her own on the day she'd suffered a greater loss than him. The girl who actually wasn't a girl at all, _but a woman_.

And the contradictions didn't end there ...not by a long shot. Even her appearance was contradicting - belying the strength hidden beneath her small frame and wholesome looks. It far surpassed just physical appearance, though. Their were layers to her strength -an inner resilience that mirrored that of her father.

Soft, _yet_ strong.

 _She was so fucking soft ..._

Daryl bit back the groan working its way up his throat, and tried to shift his hips away from her as best as he could manage in the tight, confined space. It didn't work, his injury hampering his movement, and somehow, all he managed to do was position his hard cock right against the soft warmth of her inner thigh.

Her breath stirred his hair, and then her fingers, as she grazed them gently against his scalp. _Fuck_. _She was awake_ , and with a creeping sense of guilt, and his erection pressing into her leg, Daryl wondered if she'd slept at all. He knew he should move off of her, give her some indication that he was also awake -allow her a reprieve and the few hours sleep that she most _certainly_ deserved ...but he was frozen, afraid to even breathe.

As her gentle hands began exploring the base of his neck, and the breadth of his shoulders, he realized that her touch no longer made him flinch, but instead set his heart racing, and every single nerve ending he possessed on edge -crackling like electricity beneath her fingertips. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his breathing normal, his mind grappling for _anything_ that would help to distract him -to divert the blood that was quickly draining from his brain and pumping straight into his dick, so he could enjoy her touch for what it was -compassion and comfort. But _that_ was also the problem - _her touch_ , soft as a butterfly's wings, wreaking a puzzling havoc on his senses, as it skimmed along his body.

 _She had to feel him_. There was no possible way that she couldn't - _not_ with how they were entwined, and with barely any clothing to separate them. But if that was the case, she gave no indication.

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of his mind, amidst his own heartbeat hammering wildly in his ears, he heard the prison slowly waking around them -the hustle and bustle of the regular morning routine beginning. Any minute now, someone was bound to lift that sheet, come calling to see if his fever had broke, if his condition had improved or worsened, and then they would see... See him splayed out on top of Beth, _sweet Beth_ barely half his age -who'd stayed on with him with only the purest intentions of caring for him in his injured state. See him perverting her kindness ...whether that was the case or not.

And could he even blame them? Isn't that exactly what he was doing?

He had to move. He _had_ to.

Scraping together any bit of courage and dignity he had left, Daryl tugged his arms out from underneath her, ignoring her startled little squeak, as he flattened his palms against the mattress and, untangling his legs from hers, heaved himself upwards. And then the unimaginable happened, just when Daryl thought his predicament couldn't get any more _fucking awkward_ , Beth moved too. It was really only out of reflex, bending her knees, as she tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but it sent their pelvises colliding in a deliciously forbidden way.

If he had any doubts that she'd felt his erection before, they were gone now, as her breath hitched simultaneously with his, and they both froze, locked in the intimate position. Daryl bit down hard on the inside of his cheek -all he could do to keep from groaning aloud at the unfamiliar sensations that slammed through his entire body, pooling where they were joined, yet separated by the thin barrier of their sparse clothing. Beth, lashes hooded, yet her eyes never leaving his, sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and Daryl suddenly wondered if she'd taste the same way she smelled ...like strawberries?

His cock, harder than ever, twitched between them at just the thought, as if it had a mind of its own - _and for fuck's sake_ , it obviously did! _What the hell was wrong with him? Had the fever somehow damaged his goddamn brain?_ It was almost like time had literally stopped, and Beth's gravitational pull had him trapped in the alternate universe of her orbit, unable to move -and unsure if he even really wanted to.

Except, time _hadn't_ stopped. It was moving just beyond the sheet that covered the door to Hershel's cell, just a stones throw away from them. And _dammit_ ...Hershel.

Hershel's _cell_. Hershel's _bed_. Hershel's _daughter_.

That sudden dose of sobering reality was what finally catapulted him out of the state of stupidity that had engulfed him. With a grunt and a shake of his head, Daryl heaved himself onto his back and against the wall -as physically far away from Beth as the cramped space would allow, his dick still standing painfully at attention, waving between them like a goddamn white flag of surrender in his tattered boxer shorts.

 _Shame_ -thick and suffocating, it rose up within him like bile, turning his stomach sour, as he bunched the blanket up around his hips, and slung his forearm over his eyes with a groan. _He couldn't look at her ...didn't want her looking at him._

"Daryl, it's okay," Beth's quiet voice barely passed as a whisper -a pathetic attempt to reassure him that he wasn't the giant piece of shit that he _knew_ that he was.

"Go," he ground out between clenched teeth, the shame and fear manifesting into a seething anger with himself. "Just go."

"Daryl-"

He heard the catch in her voice -heard the confusion of his sudden withdrawal. The hurt. She hadn't done a damn thing wrong -it was him who had placed them in that predicament, and if he were even half a decent fucking human being, he'd tell her that ...explain himself and his reasoning. But he wouldn't - _couldn't_ , because he was a damn coward - _a fucking pussy_ , just like Merle had always said.

"Please ..." he was desperate, his dignity hanging by a literal thread. If just this once more she could have compassion ...take mercy on his pitiful soul, he swore he would make it up to her ... _somehow_.

The mattress sagged momentarily as she rolled from the cot, and Daryl held his breath, listening to her bare feet tapping on the concrete as she gathered up her things. When the cell fell into complete silence, that's when he finally exhaled and peeped out from under his arm, just in time to catch her ducking under the sheet in the doorway.

* * *

The day passed achingly slowly, with just about everyone in the prison parading through Hershel's cell at some point. Everyone _except_ Beth. Daryl did his best to not be an asshole, but his mood was sour, and anyone with eyes and half a brain could see that.

Hershel and Rick were the first ones -coming in almost immediately on the heels of Beth's departure. Rick, to help haul him up so he could at least take a piss in the bucket someone had the good sense to bring in at some point yesterday, when he was out of it. Daryl didn't like being helpless -didn't like the feeling one fucking bit, but the minute he put pressure on his leg, he was grateful for Rick's assistance -even if he didn't say so. And at least relieving himself had helped to ease some of the discomfort of his ... _err_ ... _affliction_.

After Hershel had re-bandaged his wound, and slathered it with more antibiotic ointment, he gave Daryl the Ampicillin that Beth had procured from the house they'd looted on their run. Turns out she had saved his ass _yet again_ -and what had he done to thank her in turn? Chased her the fuck away after basically dry humping her in her father's own bed, _that's what_. He was every bit the miserable asshole that he felt.

He tried not to think about it as the day wore on, and eventually Carol came calling. Lunch in hand, and Lizzie and Mika in tow, they presented him with a handful of daisies they'd plucked from the prison yard before running off and leaving Carol behind to hover over him like an overprotective nanny. She meant well, so he bit his tongue and didn't swat her hands away until she attempted to fluff his pillow and check him for a fever for the _third_ time -and then he let her have it with a mouthful of enough foulness to make a sailor blush.

He took no offense when she stomped off and called him an asshole -just as he knew she took no offense to his pissy mood. He was well aware that he was being an ass, and weren't the first time she'd dealt with him on his sick bed neither, so she knew exactly what what she was getting herself into.

He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a shower. He wanted to _not_ be stuck in this damn bed ...but if he had to be -he would have preferred it to be in his _own_ bed.

Eventually the faint light streaming through the thin curtain dimmed and the cell block grew momentarily noisy as the masses flocked to the cafeteria for dinner, before falling into a deafening silence. Usually Daryl enjoyed the silence -craved it even, but he was going stir crazy and the quiet was damn near maddening, forcing him to think of things he'd rather put out of his mind. Like how much his leg was starting to fucking throb again. _And Beth_.

As if he'd conjured her up from his very thoughts, she was suddenly there, slipping through the sheet with a plate full of food and a bottle of water. Her demeanor wasn't rude, but she said nothing as she handed him his dinner, lit the lantern, and slid the chair in the corner up against the cot before shuffling through the medical supplies on the shelf by the door. Daryl eyeballed her, his dinner all but forgotten as she grabbed what she needed and then seated herself at his bedside.

"What are you doing?" He asked, a little more defensively than he'd intended to, as she reached for the blanket covering him.

"Changin' your bandage," she replied, his tone doing absolutely nothing to deter her as she flipped the blanket back, exposing his injured leg, and reached for his naked thigh.

"You're dad-" The words died on his tongue with her sharp reply.

"My Dad's busy right now."

Her expression impassive, he'd of sold his damn soul to know what was running through that pretty little head of hers. He could guess though -had a pretty damn good idea too, and none of it was pleasant. So they weren't going to talk about this morning, then? That was fine by him. He supposed he should be grateful for that, since just what in the fuck was he supposed to say, anyway? _Uh, gee Beth, but I just can't seem to control my dick around you -sorry for dry humping you in your dad's bed_. Daryl shook the train wreck thought from his head, and attempting to distract himself, dug into his supper -some concoction of canned beef stew over rice, with very little beef.

As usual, her touch was gentle as she unraveled the bandaging and cleaned his wound. Like Hershel, she placed a generous amount of antibiotic ointment on the gauze pad before wrapping him back up. She was quick and efficient, and Daryl was amazed he made it through the entire ordeal with his dignity intact.

The chair legs scraped against the concrete as she stood and collected the supplies off of the bed and discarded his old bandaging in the trash. Twisting the cap off of the Tylenol with Codeine, she dropped a pill in her palm, replaced the lid, and handed him the capsule.

He didn't like taking the pain pills -didn't like the way they made him feel, or that they made him sleep. He didn't understand how Merle and his buddies enjoyed popping them for fun. _But_ , he knew he needed rest to get better, and since his body's natural instinct was to stay awake, he took the pill from her outstretched hand and tossed it back before he could have second thoughts.

"Do you need anything else while I'm here?" She asked, as she dragged the chair back to the corner.

A cigarette. A change of scenery. A swift kick in the ass. The list was endless, but none of which she could give him. He eyed the piss bucket in the corner warily -he'd had the urge to go for hours now, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to ask her for _that_. He could wait. Rick and Hershel would come eventually. He hoped.

A slight blush crept into her cheeks as she followed his line of vision, but she recovered quickly as she took his empty plate and set it on the supply shelf. "I can help you," she said with her back to him, her shoulders rising with the deep breath she took.

"I'll wait," Daryl shook his head no vehemently -even though she wasn't facing him -like he could deter her by will alone. The fact that he'd managed to keep his shit together this long was a damn miracle considering his track record of late, and he wasn't about to go mucking it up now.

"That's ridiculous," she whirled around and made a beeline for the bed. "Let me help you."

Beth tossed the blanket back before he could get a tighter grip on it, and while even though she'd just spent the better part of twenty minutes re-bandaging and cleaning his wound, the blanket had been his shield -covering most of his nakedness. Without it, he felt vulnerable and exposed -almost childlike, and on instinct, he shrunk back from the hand she extended to him.

"I'm not gonna look," she said in what he guessed was an effort to make this any less awkward than it already fucking was. Somehow it only served to make it worse.

 _I'm not gonna look_. Shit! Well, it's not like he thought she was going to. So just what in the hell was he afraid of then?

With a heavy sigh, Daryl accepted her hand, scooting himself to the edge of the cot and being careful not to tug her down on top of him -she was strong, but he was twice her size, after all. He could get up on his own, he just needed her for balance once he managed to get his feet under him. But Beth wasn't having that, and she surprised him yet again with the amount of strength she exuded, as she looped her arm up under his and helped to heave him off the mattress.

He stumbled against her, but her footing was solid as she ducked under his arm and draped it over her shoulders, allowing him to lead, go at his own pace, and just lean on her for support. It took a few minutes just to make it to the corner, but Beth's patience was truly virtuous -far more than his, as Daryl mumbled a curse with each painful step until the bucket was at their feet.

Well, they'd made it. _Now what?_

But Beth seemed to already have a plan, ducking back under his arm again, she twisted around to face the opposite direction holding him up steady with one of her arms splayed across his middle, her one hand resting on his stomach, the other on his ass. It wasn't as if she had a ton of options on where to put her hands - _he knew that_ , and she was just trying to give him privacy, _but sweet Jesus_ -this girl was going to be the death of him today.

Exhaling slowly, Daryl assumed the position, giving himself a little mental pep-talk to just get it over and done with quickly -no stage fright, no funny business. Thankfully, the fact that he'd held it in so long, worked to his advantage in quickly emptying out his bladder. In the list of embarrassing things he'd done in his lifetime, this didn't even make the top ten, but as he finished and readjusted himself, he felt the heat in his cheeks burning straight up to the tips of his ears. It struck him that this was probably the most intimate thing he'd ever done with a woman -sober, and there was nothing sexual about it.

"I'm good," he croaked, lifting his arm up so Beth could duck back under it more easily.

She smiled, as she helped him hobble back around, "Daryl Dixon are you blushing?" She teased him lightheartedly, attempting to ease the tension of the situation with some levity.

It was hard not to smile, and the corner of his mouth tilted upward on its own. "Keep walkin'" he muttered in response. Not his wittiest reply, but he blamed it on the medication.

The walk back to the bed was a little less stiff, with Beth again letting him set the pace and just being his crutch. By the time she was helping to lower him back onto the cot, his head was already starting to feel fuzzy and his balance impaired. Daryl flopped down on the mattress unceremoniously, almost tugging Beth along with him, but she managed to catch herself, her reflexes quick and unhampered -unlike his.

"Do you need anything else before I go?" She helped to pull the blanket back up over him.

"You're not staying?" He asked stupidly, cursing himself even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, and for that, he blamed the medication, too.

"I - I don't think that's a good idea," Beth stammered, not quite meeting his gaze.

She was right. _It wasn't_. At least one of them still had some sense and their wits about them, because today, it sure as shit wasn't him!

Beth didn't leave though. Instead, she took a seat on the edge of the cot, threading her nervous fingers through the edges of his blanket. "Do you _want_ me to stay, Daryl?"

Beth was not playing fair. _Did he?_ That was the million dollar question -and he was a shitty contestant. Staring up at her stupidly, his brain only half-functioning, Daryl didn't have the answer. _Well_ -he did. It's just that it wasn't that fucking simple -not the cut and dry answer she was looking for, anyway.

So, he took the coward way out, shrugging his shoulders as he rolled over onto his side to face the wall, and stuffed the blanket up between his knees. "Don't matter ...I mean, if you wanna." He could play dirty, too. _Take that Beth Greene!_

He held his breath though, waiting for a reply in the deafening silence, and when none came, Daryl started to worry that maybe he had overplayed his hand. When the cell fell into darkness, the lantern extinguished, he was certain that he had - _until_ he felt the slight dip of the mattress, accommodating the additional weight.

"You can be a real jerk sometimes," Beth whispered, as she tucked her body snugly up against his back, her little arm only hesitating a moment before snaking around his middle, as if it had every right to be there.

He supposed she was referring to this morning, and if that's all she was going to say about it, Daryl sure as fuck wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he feigned sleep, concentrating on the sound of her breathing, and the slight tickle of her breath, warming him through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. As the fuzziness of drug-induced sleep started encroaching upon him, Daryl felt her move closer still, pressing her face against his back, her cheek nuzzling at his shoulder blades. And as her arm tightened around his waist, Daryl instinctively folded his hand over hers ... and _that_ , he blamed on the medication, too.

He didn't dream. Or, if he did, he didn't remember them by morning. He slept much later than usual too, as by the time he awoke, the cell block was already buzzing just beyond the sheet hanging from the doorway. Beth was gone too -but apparently not that long ago -the strawberry scent of her still lingered, as if it was ingrained into the bed sheets. _Or maybe his nose._

Daryl sat up and attempted to stretch the stiffness from his bones and cramping muscles. The fact that he was no longer facing the wall, did not escape him. Nor did the aching throb between his legs, that canceled out the pain of his wound. This was becoming an annoying hindrance, and if he didn't learn how to get it under control, Daryl knew it had the power to do irreparable damage to his friendship with Beth.

And _that_ mattered to him. Greatly. But before he could figure out how to reign it in, it might be fucking helpful to understand _why_ it was happening. He knew the _how_ , but he sure as shit wasn't going there. Certainly not today, and not fucking _ever_ , if he could help it.

And he could help it. He _would_ help it.

Thankfully, he didn't have long to dwell on his unpleasant thoughts, as Beth emerged from behind the sheet, her arms full with breakfast. Carol's lumpy ass oatmeal from the looks of it. She smiled at him all chipper and shit, as she handed the bowl over.

He may be a usual early riser, but Daryl Dixon was no fucking morning person -Beth didn't have to be here taking care of his grumpy old ugly ass either, so he returned the smile as he accepted the bowl. It _was_ Carol's oatmeal, he realized, wrinkling his nose.

The trick to eating Carol's lumpy ass oatmeal? There wasn't one. You just had to wolf it down as quickly as possible and hope you didn't choke on it and die. So that's what he did, then washed it down just as fast with the remainder of his water. Beth took her time on hers, mostly just pushing her spoon around in her bowl as she watched him eat.

"Would you like some more?" She offered her bowl to him.

"Hell no!" Daryl answered apparently way too quickly, prompting a dirty look from Beth.

With a shrug, she took his empty bowl and set it with hers on the supply shelf. "Daddy said he'll be in to change your bandage after he and Rick feed the animals. Do you need to-" she blushed, but recovered quickly, "I mean, I can help you, if you have to?" Her gaze veered for the bucket in the corner.

 _Boy did he fucking ever._ Especially after guzzling down half a bottle of water to wash away the god-awful oatmeal he'd just inhaled. Daryl didn't answer her though, instead he stared, mouth agape like a doofus, trying to figure out how to mentally will away his hard-on, or somehow hide it from her view.

He couldn't. That fact was painfully obvious. _Painfully_ being the operative word, as his cock was busy trying to poke a hole in his damn boxer shorts. Daryl felt like his back teeth were floating and now that it was on his brain, his bladder started spasming with an obnoxious urgency. If not for dumb luck, he'd have no luck at all -seriously, you just couldn't make this shit up!

"Can ya just give me some damn privacy?" Daryl snarled, as Beth reached for the corner of the blanket.

"Quit being a child," she snapped back, his temper once again doing very little to deter her. "It's no different than when I helped you last night."

 _Oh but it is, sweetheart!_ But Beth was persistent, grabbing for the corner of the blanket, primed to jerk it back and see his dick waving at her through the thin material of his boxers, and _dammit_ , he couldn't have that!

"I don't want your help!" Daryl's voice boomed through the cell, echoing off the walls and freezing Beth right in her tracks. "I didn't ask for it neither, so quit hovering over me like some damn silly nursemaid!" He added insult to injury, as he tucked the blanket around his hips protectively. _Hey, go big or go home, right?_

His words had the desired effect, as Beth immediately dropped the blanket, a pained look on her face as she turned to grab the dirty breakfast dishes off the shelf and swiftly took her exit without so much as a backward glance.

Of course he didn't mean it. If not for Beth, he'd of probably gone stark raving mad the last three days of his recovery, but _shit_ , he was only human, and there was only so much a man could take while still leaving his dignity intact. _If he even had any left_. He'd make it right with her when she returned - it wasn't like he didn't have a multitude of things he could blame his foul mood on. He just couldn't dwell on it now, not when he was damn near close to pissing the bed, and in dire need of help from anyone _but_ her.

Unfortunately for him, the rest of his schedule was wide open for dwelling, as the day began to pass without any sight of Beth. It was only Hershel who came to change his bandaging and give him his daily dose of antibiotics as promised, and Rick who damn near had to drag him to the piss bucket, his abdominal muscles cramping from holding his bladder for so long. Others filtered in and out throughout the day, but he said the bare minimum to them -Carol to bring him food, Glenn to change out his bucket, Michonne to bring him a few Guns and Ammo magazines that she assumed he'd like because he was a redneck. But no Beth.

As the day faded into night, Daryl was sure she'd come, but instead, it was just Hershel and Rick who returned. Hershel bearing food, who changed his bandage and forked over his pills before bidding him a goodnight, and Rick who assisted him with relieving himself again before turning down the lantern and leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts in the dark.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so the reason you are getting a two chapter update isn't just because I'm behind on updates (and please know that I really have been working on this story the ENTIRE time), but also because I had much to write in Daryl's POV for chapter 9 -too much actually, that the chapter literally exploded upwards almost 11k words! No problem, right? I'm sure you all wouldn't mind more to read, except, it would throw off the whole "pattern" of the story and I'm insanely OCD.**

 **So, split the chapters, right? Well, no. This also posed a problem, since chapter 11 was time to jump back to Beth's POV (remember, I'm OCD with patterns). Long story short, and after painstakingly "trimming the fat" with my editor for days, we decided to split chapter 10 in half -sort of. The first half is Daryl's POV (a continuation of chapter 9) and the back half is Beth's POV (a prequel if you will, to chapter 11).**

 **With that being said, please stay tuned for the second half of this update in a few hours (gotta tidy it)! As always, comments and feedback are so very appreciated. It's always good to know that I'm striking the right chords!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - I Sit Here Locked Inside My Head, The Silence Gets Us Nowhere**

 _I sit here locked inside my head,_

Remembering every thing you said.

 _The silence gets us nowhere,_

Gets us nowhere way too fast.

"For You" -Staind

* * *

Daryl awoke with a start, the faint smell of strawberries tickling his nostrils. Blinking away sleep, he sat straight up in bed, thinking Beth was there, but the cell was empty other than him and Daryl started to wonder if he was losing his damn mind. Cabin fever, isn't that what they called it? Restlessness and irritability from confined isolation could describe his personality on an every day basis though, so it was a wonder no one noticed that he was slowly going insane. He may have been laid up in this miserable fucking bed, but life was trudging on without him beyond the concrete and bars that had quite literally and figuratively become his own personal prison.

Not only had he memorized the cracks in his own ceiling, but he had Hershel's down now too, being stuck in this box for five days straight with nothing much else to do. The last two had by far been the most grueling. Two days with no sign of Beth. _Two fucking long goddamn days_. And what did he expect, really? After the way he'd treated her ... the way he'd been treating everyone who came around since then ...

Five days turned to eight, and his foul mood continued to fester, but at least he was up and able to navigate around the cell on his own, with only a slight limp impeding his movements. Chances were, the limp would be sticking around for awhile -especially since he wasn't putting his leg to much use. Hershel said it was still a bit too soon to take the stitches out, but since he could get around well enough between the piss bucket and the bed, perhaps he'd be more comfortable in his own cell.

For a moment, Daryl considered asking him about Beth's whereabouts, but quickly lost his nerve when Rick appeared with some water and a wash cloth, so he could clean up a bit. Even _he_ couldn't deny how good it felt to be _cleaner_ , as Daryl made good use of the water and tugged on the clean clothing -underwear, a t-shirt and some athletic looking shorts. They weren't his thing, but he kept his comments to himself, preferring not to traipse up the stairs in his underwear.

The climb wasn't too bad, as Daryl was stiff more than anything, and about half way up the stairs, Rick eased off, lagging a ways behind until they reached the upper level. He seemed distracted -but that was okay, as Daryl wasn't really in the mood for small talk, and so after making sure he would be okay, Rick took his leave, mumbling something about piglets.

Daryl sighed, his mood improving the slightest bit. It was good to be surrounded by his own belongings - his wings, and his crossbow -both draped over the back of the broken chair that someone had apparently repaired in his absence, his dragon statue and tin can ashtray on his cluttered - _correction_ , his _not so cluttered_ desk. The cell itself was more tidy in general, a detail that he picked up on almost immediately, and as his eyes fell to the jar of pickled pigs feet setting on his now somewhat organized desk, Daryl had a pretty good idea _who_ was responsible for it, too.

As he settled onto his familiar worn out mattress, he had his confirmation. _Strawberries_ -her scent was all around him, embedded in his bed sheets, and it was then that Daryl realized where Beth had been sleeping since the morning he'd chased her off -five days ago, now. It made sense, beings that it wasn't an easy task for Hershel to continually climb the stairs with his prosthetic leg while Daryl was laid up in the old man's cell, and Beth had more than likely given her bed over to her father for that very reason. And it wasn't really that Daryl _minded_ -he could certainly think of worst things than a pretty girl occupying his bed while he was gone -except that it only served to widen the odd void he'd been feeling in her absence. Why could she come here, straighten his room, sleep in his bed, but not face him? The Beth he thought he knew didn't run from anything ...least of all him.

And as the next day ticked by - _even though he knew it was his own damn fault_ -Beth's absence began to infuriate him. That she could so callously dismiss their friendship -as if he meant _nothing_ to her ... _it hurt_ -whether he wanted to admit it or not. He should have seen it coming -the pattern rarely differed ...like his dreams that haunted him -anyone that had ever gotten close always disappeared. His mother, Merle ...why should Beth be any different?

By day ten, he was damn near close to losing his mind -the fact that he felt boxed in before this was seriously laughable. He'd stopped taking the pain meds two days ago, and so his usual shitty sleeping habits had returned, along with the nightmares, that without the pills, now robbed him of any meaningful rest. His leg felt better, though -the infection long gone, and the stitches ready to be removed from the wound. Hershel _did_ make the trip up the stairs for that, with Carol in tow, and together they brought Daryl up to speed on the goings on of the prison, and the Council meetings he'd missed while recovering.

Two of the piglets were sick, so Rick had built a smaller pen to segregate them until they got better or died -whichever came first. Thus far, none of the other animals seemed to be affected, and as far as Hershel could tell, they'd caught a simple cold and were expected to make a full recovery. In the unfortunate case that they didn't, there were still seven other healthy piglets. Now Rick's distracted mumbling about piglets the other day, made sense.

They'd also begun digging the pits outside of the fences, with Glenn and Sasha temporarily overseeing the project until he was ready to resume leadership. Daryl wasn't just ready -he was _damned_ eager, and despite Carol and Hershel's pleas to stay off of his leg for a few more days, he intended to get started _today_. Laying around feeling sorry for himself wasn't doing him any good, and if he didn't feel the sun warm his skin, or fill his lungs with some fresh air, he was liable to go stark raving mad! They were lucky he'd listened and stayed off of it this long. Or maybe he was lucky -either way, it mattered very little, as he wasn't sitting in this cell another minute longer than he had to.

The subject of bringing Rick back into more of a leadership role was also broached, and Daryl promised them he'd give it another whirl. It was a topic that came up at least once a month -usually after some sort of crisis hit and Rick was habitually forced back into the position. And every time Daryl would bring it up to him, his reaction was always the same ...he'd shrug his shoulders with that half-smile, toe his boot into the dirt, run an impatient hand through his hair or scrape it down his jaw, and shake his head no. Today would likely be no different.

"Now listen son, you leave the damn thing covered during the day," Hershel insisted, as he loosely re-bandaged the wound, now that the stitches were removed. "If you hit it hard enough, you're liable to tear yourself open again," Hershel paused, waiting for Daryl's nod of confirmation before continuing with his discharge instructions. "Leave it breathe at night, and keep it clean. The infection could come back -only if it does, it'll likely be twice as strong and more resistant to antibiotics, and we are just about tapped out."

"Can I shower?" Daryl asked, after nodding his understanding. Aside from the birdbath he'd had the other day, it had been over a week since he'd bathed, and their days of being ripe were long gone since they'd set up the shower system.

"Yes. Just don't go rubbin' your skin raw, and you dab it dry," Hershel waved a stern finger at him.

After Carol and Hershel took their leave, Daryl tugged on some pants, and stepped into his boots, quickly fumbling with the laces, then slid into his wings. For the first time in over a week, he finally looked like himself, and as he shouldered his crossbow and collected his knife and holster from the desk to secure at his hip, he started to feel more like himself too.

Ignoring the obnoxious limp as best as he could, Daryl cautiously made his way down the metal steps. His first instinct was to glance towards Beth's cell, but Daryl ignored it, pushing through the hallway quickly and not stopping until he was shoving through the heavy metal doors that led outside to freedom.

The sun's rays were glorious, albeit bright as hell, and Daryl brought up his arm to shield his eyes while they adjusted, as he made his way to the pickup truck and collected his cigarette pack from the dashboard, where he'd left it. Popping one into his mouth, he tugged his zippo lighter from his vest pocket and flicked the wick, puffing until the cherry burned a bright red, and inhaled deeply. His first hit didn't go down quite as smoothly as he hoped after a week of non-smoking, leaving Daryl coughing and sputtering as he tucked the cigarettes into his vest pocket with his lighter.

"Those things'll kill you," Michonne smirked, sizing him up as she walked in a slow circle around him, then slapped him on the shoulder affectionately. "You look like shit, so I guess you're back to normal."

"Thanks," Daryl muttered, clearing his throat and then taking another drag. "I see you're hard at work, as usual."

"Mm hmm," she nodded. "Just got back."

"From?"

"A quick run. Someone had to pick up your slack while you were laying around doin' nothing," her smile broadening as she reached into her pocket and handed him an unopened pack of cigarettes. "Can't believe I actually missed your ugly ass."

"Better watch your mouth, sunshine," Daryl growled, the hint of a smile twitching at his lips as he accepted her gift and stuffed it in his back pocket.

Michonne threw her head back and laughed, falling in step with Daryl as he headed towards the fields. "Tell me, has that line ever _really_ intimidated anyone?"

Daryl shrugged, "Don't know. They were too busy runnin' scared. Where's your boy?"

"Who? Rick?" Michonne asked, stiffening just the slightest bit.

Daryl nodded. It was clear to just about anyone with eyes that there was something bubbling just below the surface of Rick and Michonne's friendship -born out of a mutual respect, and their love for Carl. It seemed they were the only ones who hadn't picked up on it yet, or refused to -but it _was_ there.

"He's with the animals. Some of the pigs are sick," Michonne answered, changing their trajectory towards the animal pens.

"I heard," Daryl replied. And knowing Rick and the way he stressed over the crops and livestock -stressed over sustaining the group in general, he was probably camping outside of their stalls. "Any issues with the fences? Rats?"

Michonne shook her head no. "Not that I know of. It's actually been pretty quiet."

"Bored yet?"

"Immensely," She smiled. "What do have in mind?"

"Should pull a crew to take down some trees tomorrow. Build more spikes like the ones we put where the fence was weak." The fact that things had been quiet didn't mean much to Daryl. Giving the prison the comforts of a home was important, but fortifying it ranked in his book. After all, without a home, there would be no comforts at all.

Michonne nodded her confirmation. "Yeah, okay. I'm in."

"Hey, it's alive!" Rick called, as they approached, looking up from the slop bucket he was pouring into the pig trough.

"And it's ugly," Michonne called over her shoulder as she continued walking on, heading towards Hershel who was pruning the vegetable crops farther out in the field.

Rick laughed, dropping the bucket and joined Daryl where he was leaning on the makeshift fence, nursing the rest of his cigarette. "How's the leg?" He asked, pulling the work gloves off of his hands and tucking them in the back pocket of his jeans.

Daryl shrugged, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. "Still in one piece. How are they?" He flicked his chin in the direction of the lean-to that housed the sick piglets.

"Not looking good. They're too young to be weaned off their mother's milk and they won't eat slop," Rick sighed. "We're probably gonna lose them."

"Hershel said he thought they'd get better," Daryl offered. Losing anything when they had so very little was a huge blow, no matter how small the loss in the scope of things. And for Rick, who'd poured his all into these animals and crops -it had very little to do with ego, and a lot to do with heart.

"Yeah. Maybe," Rick nodded, staring off into the distance. "They send you to ask me again?"

"Yeh," Daryl nodded, pushing away from the pigpen. Rick did not disappoint with his usual reaction -today was the hand through the hair.

"Figured it was coming after the fences and then your injury right on top of it." He shook his head, toeing the dirt with the pointed toe of his worn cowboy boots. "It ain't like I'm not here if you's need me. I just -I just don't want _that_ ," he stammered, struggling for the words. "It's better this way -collective leadership. Look at everything we've accomplished."

Daryl didn't reply. He wouldn't prod. He wouldn't push. Rick deserved to sit at the head of the Council, but he deserved _this_ too. Whatever it was. Whatever peace it brought him. That he was still here in any capacity was good enough -for now.

They'd begun walking towards the fence, Rick keeping his gait slow to allow for Daryl's limp, giving the occasional nod to those who stopped what they were doing to acknowledge them, wish Daryl well, or congratulate him on his recovery. As usual, he hated the fucking attention, hated being put on a pedestal that he certainly didn't deserve, but he nodded and limped and moved along.

"Uh oh," Glenn looked up from the ditch he was digging on the opposite side of the fence and smiled. "Looks like I'm out of a job."

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, "looks like you got it under control."

Glenn laughed, leaning on the shovel handle and taking a moment to catch his breath. "But you dig holes so much better than me. How ya feeling?" He asked, removing his ball cap to swipe at the sweat on his brow before replacing it.

"Still in one piece," Daryl gave him the same answer he'd given to Rick, along with the same roll of his shoulders. "You comin' out?" He turned to Rick, as he moved the couple of paces to the section of the fence they'd cut for easier mobility, unwinding the chain that held it closed when not in use.

"Why not?" Rick shrugged, holding the chain links back as Daryl un-shouldered his crossbow to duck through the opening.

After a few minutes of banter with Sasha and Glenn, and Rick had slipped away to return to his farm work, Daryl figuratively rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Easing himself into one of the three pits they had begun to dig, he wrapped his handkerchief around his head, relieved the poor bastard that was already panting from heat frustration in the hole, grabbed the shovel and began attacking the dirt underfoot.

It felt good to be useful again. Good to feel the bunch and flex of his muscles straining under his skin -until it didn't. He'd taken the pit down by about another two and a half feet before he could no longer ignore the dull ache in his leg that had steadily progressed to a full fledged throbbing pain. As much as it irked him, it was time to stop, or at the very least, take a break.

Stabbing the shovel into the soil at his feet and backing up against the corner of the dirt wall behind him, Daryl braced his hands on the higher ground and hauled himself up and out of the hole. Finding his footing took a bit of effort, and even if he knew that Hershel had been right -that it was too soon for strenuous labor, Daryl would never admit it, as he yanked the handkerchief from his face and fought the urge to massage the pain out of his thigh in front of everyone.

As he fished his cigarettes out of his pocket, he realized the sun had begun it's descent from the sky, and the small crew around him had already started cleaning up, eager to throw in the towel after a hard day's work in the blazing Georgia heat. Daryl was not so eager to return to the confines of the prison. He lagged behind them, his limp a pretty damn good excuse for his sluggishness, and planted his ass on the top of one of the picnic tables in the outdoor kitchen area.

One by one, he watched the prison yard empty, waiting for the the cafeteria to start filling up, so he could sneak into the showers and wash the stench of his foul mood off of himself. Throughout the day, Beth may have managed to remain elusive, but that didn't mean she hadn't been on his mind, occupying her own little corner of his brain. And after stubbing out his third cigarette, she still remained there -a new form of torture for his body to use against him, like the nightmares.

Daryl wasn't sure which was worst.

With a heavy sigh, he hauled himself up and started indoors, favoring his good leg as he limped slowly towards the locker room, trying not to bring any unwanted attention to himself as he bypassed the cafeteria. Once safely inside, he stripped down to his t-shirt and boxer shorts and inspected his wound to be sure he hadn't ripped it back open. Besides being sore as hell, it looked as to be expected -ugly, but that was about it.

Ugly like his mood, Daryl thought, as he ran his fingers against the puckered ridges of where his flesh had torn from Beth's blade. He would scar, despite her tidy stitches -the gash had just been too big, too deep. It would be just one of the many that already littered his body, only difference was this one didn't leave an emotional counterpart below the surface.

Doing his best to shake off the unpleasant thoughts that we're clamoring to the forefront of his mind, Daryl busied himself following his usual showering routine. He tucked his boots under the bench, hung his vest and belt from the hooks in his locker, gathered his soap and clean clothing and deposited his dirty stuff in the laundry cart, then headed to the showers to finish disrobing there.

Someone else was showering on the far end, but Daryl forced himself to pay them no mind, if he was quiet enough, they might not even know he was here. Ducking into the farthest stall along the windows, without bothering to check how full the barrel was, Daryl dropped his clean clothing onto the sill, where it would be safe from the water splatter, and jerked the curtain closed behind him so he could finish undressing.

As he shoved his boxer shorts down his legs, he realized that his _affliction_ didn't discriminate against any thoughts of Beth -even angry ones caused his body to react, and as he stared down at the growing evidence, his anger also grew. _This_ was the cause of it all -this lack of self control that vexed and infuriated him.

He remembered the last time he'd been thinking of Beth in the shower -where this had all begun. He'd wanted to touch himself then, and Daryl wondered if maybe he had, would it have still escalated? Here he was, full circle, and he'd accomplished _nothing_. He'd pushed Beth away, and the urge was _still_ there. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system? Maybe he was overthinking this all too much? Maybe he just needed to ...

Daryl gasped as his hand circled around his dick, a shudder rippling through him. It had been a long time since he'd jerked himself off -but this shit was like riding a bike, right? Pretty hard to fuck up, even for him.

Without bothering to remove his shirt, Daryl reached for the water pump and stepped under the spray, as he slid his hand slowly up his shaft and flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. It twitched in response, and he gave it a squeeze, tightening his grip slightly as his palm glided back down, now slick from the water.

Daryl moaned aloud, forgetting about the other person showering on the other end of the room, and he honestly didn't give a shit. His brain began flicking through images like an old movie reel -images of Beth's face, her lips a breath away that morning, the heat he'd felt when their pelvises had collided, the soft warmth of her inner thigh, the smooth dip of her stomach. Her hands had always been soft and gentle, and he imagined what they'd feel like on his cock, stroking the length of him while he bucked into her grasp.

The water streamed down around him and he shuddered again, his hips now moving with the rhythmic strokes of his hand. He was so fucking close, could feel the tightening of his abdomen, feel the coiling warmth deep in his gut, seeping outward like little electric pulses to all his nerve endings.

The water stopped, but Daryl didn't care, as a shiver tore through him so intense it was almost violent and nearly knocked him on his ass. Riding that cresting wave, he clenched his jaw, threw back his head and growled his release as stars burst behind his eyelids and his seed spilled forth, slicking his fingers.

Expelling a deep breath, Daryl reached for the pump, rinsing his hand off as he took a moment to compose himself before he tackled the sopping wet t-shirt that was plastered to him now, like a second skin. His body felt like it was humming, extremely sensitive -all his nerve endings still tingling, he pushed his head under the water stream, and waited for his heart rate to slow.

He didn't hear the shower curtain sliding open, was too distracted by the euphoric feelings engulfing him, that he didn't realize he was no longer alone until he felt her arms snaking around his waist. His brain still floating on the fringes of where fantasy meets reality, Daryl leaned back into her embrace, his lips forming her name -even as he _knew_ Beth would never be so bold. Yes, this was all _wrong_ , his mind finally registering through the haze -he glanced down at Lenore's tattooed covered hands reaching eagerly for his cock.

Daryl panicked, shrugging out of her grasp and bending at the waist -his only defense against her intimate assault, and roaming hands. He jerked the shower curtain around his nakedness, ripping it down from the rings, as he stumbled away from Lenore and got the fuck out of there as fast as he could, his feet slipping on the wet tiles as he limped for the safety of the men's locker room, her curses ringing in his ears.

Terrified that she'd follow, Daryl quickly rifled through the table of clean clothing. In his haste, he didn't dry off, quickly shrugging from his sopping wet t-shirt and struggled dragging on whatever he thought might fit, since he'd left his own clothing back in the shower stall. His eyes continuously flicking nervously towards the door, Daryl stepped into his boots, not bothering to lace them, as he scrambled to grab all his belongings and headed towards the exit.

Lurching through the corridor, Daryl turned the corner and slammed right into Beth, knocking the pile of clothing she held in her arms to the floor, as she let out a surprised little squeak. _Of all the dumb fucking luck!_

Recovering from his own shock at seeing her, and not intending to give her a chance to question him, Daryl bent and quickly scooped up the clothing, once folded nicely, and now a rumpled mess. With a forlorn look and a mumbled shitty apology, he thrust them into her arms, and limped away, ironically eager for the safety of his own cell, and thinking that if Lenore was a man, he would have fucking punched her for this.

* * *

Her breath caught in her throat, Beth watched Daryl limp away, clutching the now rumpled laundry to her chest as she remained rooted in place until he rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight. The way he'd looked at her hurt her heart, but she stuffed it down, squaring her shoulders and continued on to the women's locker room, as she'd intended.

Pushing through the door, Beth was greeted by Carol who was disrobing in preparation for her shower, while a fully clothed, yet dripping wet Lenore, angrily slammed things around in her locker, pausing just long enough to toss a dirty look in her direction. Beth ignored her, depositing the clothing pile onto the stash table, and smiled warmly back Carol. She really didn't care if Lenore disliked her -the feeling was mutual.

"What's up with Dixon?" Lenore asked, as she too began to peel her soaked clothing off. "Is he queer or somethin'?"

"Queer?" Carol arched a single brow upwards at the absurdity of the question.

"Yeah, queer," Lenore repeated with an annoyed sigh. She paused from unhooking her bra to touch her two straightened index fingers together in a lewd gesture. "Ya know, queer, gay, whatever."

Carol smiled as she wrapped herself in a towel to conceal her nakedness. "No, Daryl's not gay," she shook her head as walked towards the shower room door, pausing just before pushing through it. "He just has, ya know, standards, principles, whatever," she shrugged, casting another smile at Beth before shoving through the door.

Beth pursed her lips, struggling not to laugh at Carol's blatant insult towards Miss D-cups, she cleared her throat and continued to fold and straighten her laundry piles. She could feel the woman's hateful stare burning a hole straight through her, and yet, she couldn't seem to find the will to care.

"Somethin' funny blondie?" Lenore asked, her naked breasts bouncing as she walked towards Beth, and plucked a clean top from one of the stacks.

"Nope," Beth continued on with her task. If Lenore thought to intimidate her, she'd picked the wrong day and the wrong county girl.

"Didn't think so," Lenore hissed, through the fake smile planted on her face, as she spitefully swatted a folded pile to the floor. "Oops," her tone turned saccharin sweet as she pressed her hand to her mouth in mock innocence, then yanked the clean top over her head and stomped out of the locker room.

Her brows drawn together in frustration, Beth bent to retrieve the clothing, fighting the urge to chase the vile woman down and test her balloon popping theory. Instead, she headed to the shower room, determined to find out what had prompted Lenore to ask about Daryl's sexuality. And better yet, what had Daryl tearing through the halls like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

As Beth gathered Daryl's abandoned clothing and took in the missing shower curtain, it wasn't hard to deduce what had occurred here. Daryl went to great lengths to shower when no one else was around -everyone knew that, it's just no one said anything about it. His reasons why were unknown, but that mattered very little -the fact was, _he did_. That this woman would violate that ...ambush him while he was in such a vulnerable place, violate his privacy for her own selfish reasons ... horrified and angered Beth.

Knowing how he'd first reacted to _her_ touch -how long it had taken Daryl not to shrink from her own affectionate gestures -and how he _still_ struggled with it at times, struck a primal instinct deep within her, to protect him. To shield him from the ugliness of this grasping, pretentious woman, who so obviously cared very little about him as a person -otherwise she'd have _known_ better.

As Beth stood there in the middle of the showers, clutching Daryl's clothing to her chest, all the emotions she'd been bottling for weeks, rose up, crashing around her like a unrelenting wave. It tore her breath away, threatening to drown her in a sea of guilt, and possessiveness, and anger, and ... _dammit_ , she swore she wouldn't go _there_ , but she was only lying to herself ...

Her school girl crush, wasn't _just_ a crush anymore.

* * *

 **A/N: And there you have it - your two part update. I hope you enjoyed them both! As of right now, it looks as if I'll resume the normal update schedule this week. Thank you ALL for your patience. 3**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Some VERY important things I should have mentioned at the end of the last chapter update:**

 _So, some revelations here on Beth's part. Funny how that sneaks up on you, huh? Seriously, I always thought that if it went cannon on the show, that Beth would come to the realization first -even though it was Daryl who first started behaving all mushy-like, he still didn't have a CLUE what he was feeling. And while (at least in my story), Beth may have never been "in love", she still knows this is different, and she's still eons ahead of Daryl emotionally. While he has an inkling that Beth is different, and he knows he feels good when he's around her (and that darn pesky sexual attraction he can't quite seem to get control of) -he still just doesn't get it. FYI: I have often considered Daryl to be demisexual (and maybe even asexual -especially as depicted on the show), and I've noted that a lot of my favorite fanfic writers have successfully toyed with this too. While I'm not savvy enough to link you to some awesome info regarding what demisexuality is, I can leave you with this copy and pasted info for a loose definition:_

 _A demisexual is a person who does not experience sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection with someone. It's more commonly seen in but by no means confined to romantic relationships. The term demisexual comes from the orientation being "halfway between" sexual and asexual. Nevertheless, this term does not mean that demisexuals have an incomplete or half-sexuality, nor does it mean that sexual attraction without emotional connection is required for a complete sexuality. In general, demisexuals are not sexually attracted to anyone of any gender; however, when a demisexual is emotionally connected to someone else (whether the feelings are romantic love or deep friendship), the demisexual experiences sexual attraction and desire, but only towards the specific partner or partners._

When describing demisexuality as an orientation to sexuals, sexuals often mistake it as an admirable choice rather than an innate orientation. Demisexuals are not choosing to abstain; **they simply lack sexual attraction until a close relationship is formed.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 - I Won't Be Made Useless, I Won't Be Idled with Despair**

 _I won't be made useless,_

I won't be idled with despair.

I will gather myself around my faith,

For light does the darkness most fear.

"Hands" - Jewel

* * *

Beth stood under the spray of the water, letting it mingle with the tears she swore she wouldn't cry. But then they were there -salty and warm, sliding down her cheeks in silent protest, and against her will.

 _You don't cry anymore silly girl, remember?_

She hadn't planned on showering, but the mental images of Lenore accosting Daryl would not leave her be, tormenting her until it made her skin crawl to the point of feeling dirty. Dirty in her _own_ guilt. Her _own_ stolen touches. Her _own_ persistence that day in the cell when he'd shouted at her so loud, she'd sworn the whole prison had heard.

Of course they hadn't. Or, if they had, no one had ever given her any indication, otherwise.

Unbidden, her mind began picking apart every interaction they'd ever had. Had Daryl only been tolerating her all along? Offering her a kindness in his own way -thinking to help to ease her conscience for the part she played in his injured state? For his own guilt, in the responsibility she knew that he still felt towards Zach's death?

It was hard for her to reconcile that, though. Aside from _that_ particular day, when she'd been _particularly_ insistent, he had never made her feel as though her company or her touch were unwanted -uncomfortable at times, _yes_ -but never unwanted.

Until of course, _those very words_ had tumbled out of his mouth. _That_ morning ...

Truthfully, her pride had been far more wounded than her feelings. And although she had avoided him like the plague since then, deep down in her heart of hearts, she did not feel that Daryl had truly meant them, but that they were said out of frustration and desperation at the situation. She was no fool -she'd felt each and every time his body had responded to hers ...as a man that _wants_ a woman -and _not_ in a platonic way. Of course she didn't have much to measure it by, but going by the little experience she _did_ have, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that an erection in that particular instance _probably_ meant sexual attraction.

That she could affect him in that way had left her elated - _at first_. The feel of him, hard and urgent, and thrillingly undisciplined, pressing eagerly against her -ignited something restless deep within her. But when intricately weaving itself with the already complicated feelings he evoked ... _it was just too much._

What she was feeling now could not be explained away by _only_ sexual attraction on her part. Not anymore. This ran far deeper - _though she dare not say the words_... And although she couldn't quite put her finger on the exact moment things had shifted for her, she knew the seed had been planted the day she wrapped her arms around him that fateful moment in her cell, which now seemed like eons ago.

And like a sickness, it had spread within her -each subtle touch, each act of kindness, each look that lingered just a second too long ...

But for all his perplexities, it wasn't just her - _Daryl had touched her too_ ... Seeking her out for comfort in the dark of the night when the nightmares he hid from had hooked their talons in him anyway. His gravelly voice choked with fear as he breathed her name into the space between them -only calming when she put her hands upon him, as if she were a lifeline, an anchor tethering him to what was real. It swelled her heart and broke it in the same instant.

And with that thought, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Beth was only half aware as she dragged the washcloth over her body, scrubbing vigorously until her skin was raw and red and her fingers began to prune and pickle in the cool water. She had no idea how long she'd been in here, only that she kept priming the pump so she didn't have to differentiate her tears from the water falling around her.

Drying and dressing was the same, her brain on autopilot as she stepped into clean panties and some cotton sleep shorts. As she reached for her tank top, she hesitated, grabbing the t-shirt off of Daryl's pile instead. It easily dwarfed her, hanging well past where her shorts stopped at her thighs, but Beth didn't care. She only cared that it was his, and being inside of it gave her the illusion that she was closer to him somehow.

His clothing clutched tightly in her arms, Beth quickly made her way back to her cell, the darkened corridors confirming that she'd lingered in the showers far too long. There was only one light she cared about though -only one she looked for, craning her neck to search the upper deck, but it was dark. Cold. Intentionally uninviting.

She knew why. And just the thought of it made her feel dirty all over again.

Stepping inside her cell, Beth dropped Daryl's clothing at the foot of her cot and began to pace the concrete floor, as she struggled on what her next move would be. She _had_ to go see him, of that she was certain. Anything past that part ...she hadn't a fucking clue!

Hushed whispers in the corridor stopped her from pacing a hole in the floor, as Beth froze, straining her ears, secretly happy at the distraction from the burden of her racing thoughts. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, creeping quietly out of her cell to find out what was going on, she bumped into an equally curious Rick, and together they followed the source of the sounds to her father's cell.

Peeling back the sheet, Beth immediately wished she hadn't. _No, no, no -not this, please no!_ Her heart sunk, threatening to stop beating at the sight of her sister doubled over on Daddy's cot, clutching her stomach, her face twisted in agony. Poor Glenn sat beside her, white as the sheet Beth still clutched in her fist, doing his best impression of remaining calm.

"Don't dawdle in the doorway," Hershel scolded them, as he lit the lantern and asked Rick to go fetch some room temperature drinking water.

"What can I do?" Beth forced the words past her lips, dropping the sheet and stumbling into the room.

Maggie reached for her, extending her hand as Beth fell to her knees beside her sister to fold it immediately within her own and pressed a kiss to her whitened knuckles. Her skin was cool and clammy to the touch, and in the flickering light of the lantern, she looked so pale and fragile, so scared. It jarred Beth, this stark contradiction of her usually fiery big sister who wasn't afraid of anything.

"Get her down," Hershel instructed Glenn, who was quick to do his bidding, leaping off the cot and gently pressing Maggie down onto the mattress, forcing Beth to release her grip on her sister's hand. Maggie fought against it, instinctively curling into a ball to ward away the onslaught of pain that was sure to return again at any moment.

"I know love," Hershel cooed, easing himself down beside her on the mattress and tenderly brushing the hair back from her eyes. He reached for her hands and untangled them from around her waist so he could gently prod at the small swell of her lower abdomen. "Where are you cramping Maggie? Show me?"

Maggie clutched at her stomach -just under her ribs as another spasm wracked her body. She grit her teeth against the pain, as Hershel again soothed her brow and patiently waited for it to subside, then disengaged her hands again, pulling one into his lap. "When's the last time you urinated?" It seemed such a silly question, and even Maggie balked at first, but it wasn't Daddy who was talking to her now, it was the prison doctor.

"I-I don't know," Maggie stammered.

"Try and think," Hershel encouraged her, raising her hand up towards the light, he pinched at the meaty skin between her knuckles and wrist, pulling it up and studying it as it slowly eased back to normal. "You're dehydrated, Maggie," He said with finality. "Now, I've told you about overdoing it, I've warned you how important it is to take care of yourself now more than ever. You can't be spending hours out in this heat without staying fully hydrated -your body is working twice as hard as so as it is."

"Is she going to be okay?" Glenn asked.

"She should be fine once we get enough fluids into her," Hershel answered, his free hand again gently prodding Maggie's lower abdomen. "But she's not getting out of this bed until then."

Glenn breathed a sigh of relief big enough to fill the room, as Rick returned with the water.

"What about the baby?" Maggie's voice cracked on the last syllable, belying the brave face she'd somehow managed to put back on.

"The baby's down here," he indicated with another prod. "Are you feeling any pain down here?"

Maggie shook her head no.

"When's the last time you felt it move?"

That Maggie remembered easily, and with a small shared smile with Glenn. "Not more than 'bout an hour ago. He always starts somersaulting the minute I lay down."

"Then I think the baby's fine," he joined in on the small smile too, "but we better get Carol in here so she can check." Hershel cast an apologetic look at Rick, who only nodded before slipping back behind the sheet to go fetch Carol.

"Promise me you're going to start taking better care of yourself?" Hershel inquired, his tone reverting to a more fatherly lilt, as he twisted the cap off of one of the water bottles and pressed it against her lips.

Maggie nodded then cringed as another painful cramp tore through her, sending the water pooling down her throat and soaking the front of the shirt she wore. Hershel paused, waiting for it to ease before returning the bottle, instructing her to sip slowly.

"Why is this happening?" Glenn cried, frantic in his helplessness of watching his wife suffer with no recourse.

"Her muscles are fatigued," Hershel responded calmly, "They will subside when we hydrate her."

Beth stood in awe of her father's cool-headedness, her admiration growing -if that was even possible. What they would ever do without him was beyond her comprehension and something she couldn't bear to allow herself to even think. They all had their own parts to play, each role integral to the group in some way, but Daddy was the glue that held them all together, steadfast and sure.

Moving to the foot of the cot and needing to be of some help, Beth lifted her sister's feet and began unlacing Maggie's boots, while Glenn mumbled words of support and Daddy coaxed more water into her. The wait for Carol surely seemed longer than it actually was, and for something that her father could easily do, but Beth understood the reasoning behind calling in Carol -it was an odd situation all around.

Maggie had sipped her way through half the bottle when Hershel rose and asked Glenn to accompany him in the hall so Beth could help 'make Maggie more comfortable'. She sprung into action as soon as the sheet dropped, helping her sister to slide her pants down her hips, and then tugged up the blanket to cover her naked lower half to help ease some of Maggie's discomfort.

"Here, drink more water," Beth offered, holding the bottle to her sister's lips as her father had.

Maggie took a quick gulp, tears welling in her eyes as she lowered herself back to the pillow. "I'm scared, Bethy. I'm so scared ..."

"Shhh," Beth reached to lovingly pet her sister's head, gently flicking the tears away, only for them to be replaced almost instantly with fresh ones. "You heard Daddy, everything's going to be fine. You just need to be more careful-"

"I was _there_ Beth, I delivered Judith. I saw first hand how everything can go wrong in the blink of an eye," she clung to Beth's hand, the bite of her touch fueled with the fear and desperation she felt. "What were we thinking? I might not even make it through this -"

"Don't even say it!" Beth cut her off abruptly.

But Maggie was persistent. "Promise me! Swear it! If anything ever happens to me, you'll look after Glenn and the baby."

"Of course I would," that went without saying! Beth dropped the capped bottle onto the cot and bent down to wrap her arms around her sister. "But nothing is gonna happen to you, Maggie. _I won't let anything happen to you_ ," she vowed, squeezing her sister tightly. She continued to hold her that way until Carol entered the room, and necessity bid they move apart.

Carol wasted no time, immediately pulling on a pair of latex gloves and lifted the blanket shielding Maggie's nakedness, folding it at her thighs. "Take a deep breath, relax your knees," Carol instructed as Maggie squeezed Beth's hand so hard she nearly cried out.

It only took a moment, but it felt like hours, while Carol conducted her brief examination. "Your cervix is intact," she informed them, snapping the gloves off and depositing them in the trash, then unfolded the blanket, lowering it back down. "Everything seems as it should." She pat each of them lovingly on the shoulder before ducking back out into the hallway to consult with Hershel.

"See?" Beth bent to brush a kiss against her sisters clenched fist, noting that it had been awhile since she'd cramped up. Her father must have been right. Maggie managed a smile, as Beth helped her to at least slide her panties back on before the cell filled back up again.

Glenn, still a ball of nerves, nearly flung himself across the room to fold Maggie in his arms, his hand falling protectively on the swell of her lower belly, as Hershel nudged him with the water bottle -a silent order to continue putting fluids in her. Beth stepped back, folding Maggie's jeans and dropping them neatly atop her boots that she'd removed earlier, unsure what else she _should_ do, but not wanting to stand around like an eavesdropper.

She was thankful when Daddy gripped her by the elbow and tugged her gently to the side, lowering his voice for only her ears. "You did good again, Doodlebug. You've got a soothing touch and a calming nature, and the sick, the hurt, they respond well to it. Maybe you should start assisting me with Carol from now on? It'll be good for you to learn as much as you can. I won't be around forever, after all-"

"Don't say such things," Beth hushed her father, feeling her throat growing tight at just the thought. That he would feel confident leveling such responsibilities on her made her heart swell fiercely with pride. She would never be the badass zombie slayer like her sister was, but she could still protect people this way - _in her own way._ "Okay Daddy," she agreed, with a nod of her head.

Leaning down, Hershel dropped a kiss on her worried brow before giving her a quick squeeze and a gentle nudge towards the door, "Get some rest, Bethy."

"And where will you go? You keep getting ousted, perhaps we need a cell just for the sick?" It wasn't a bad idea -the infirmary was still in the red zone, but they could make their own until they tackled that part of the prison. "Take my bed Daddy, I'll crawl up in the top bunk."

"Rick already moved Carl into his cell for the night. I'll be fine, now go on, _get_!" His tone was light -playful even, evoking memories of the past with his choice of words.

Beth headed quickly to her cell, with no intentions of remaining there. She'd put this off long enough -it was time to kill two birds with one stone. Scooping Daryl's clothing off her cot, she plucked the map he'd loaned her from the top of her filing cabinet and started towards the stairs.

Her heart hammered faster with every step she took, but she fought the fear -fought the urge to turn and run back to the safety of her cell. It was only a false security anyway. She'd put off asking him her favor long enough -put off facing him even longer, it seemed. She wasn't a child. She was a grown damn woman. She _would_ face her problems head on. She wouldn't run from them.

And for all her mental preparedness, her pep talk faded into oblivion the moment she stood before the blanket that covered the doorway to his cell. It still remained dark within, despite the bit of commotion that had just transpired on the lower level, and for a brief moment Beth worried that maybe he was sleeping -but deep down she knew better. Knew that his poor sleeping habits had returned the minute he stopped taking the codeine - _knew because_ ...well, that didn't matter right now. She had come for a reason and could not afford any distractions.

"Daryl ..." she breathed his name into the darkness as she slipped inside his cell, terrified that he wouldn't answer her -terrified that he _would_.

He was sitting up in his cot, his back pressed against the concrete wall behind him, and while she couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, she could feel them burning into her. The butterflies that had lain dormant for quite a spell suddenly flared to life within her - _and damn him_ that he could sit there so calm and collected while she was falling apart at the seams!

"Beth?" He was already leaning towards his desk to light the lantern, turning it up only partially and leaving most of the room still bathed in shadows, he squinted at her. "What's goin' on, Beth? Are you okay?"

His voice was so heavily laced with concern for her, Beth felt as if her heart would collapse in her chest. How could she _ever_ think he didn't care? It was in every inflection, every gesture -even if he didn't realize it.

Beth shook her head, crossing the room before she lost the little nerve she had managed to muster on her way up here, and laid his clothing down between them, seating herself beside it. "I'm fine. It's Maggie - _was_ Maggie, but she's okay now. I'm fine." Beth cringed as the words tumbled out of her mouth like vomit, as scattered and broken as her thoughts. "I'm fine," she repeated again, wanting to gag herself.

 _Ugh!_

Daryl glanced down at his clothing -the barrier she'd placed between them, then back up at her. An odd look washed over his features -for just a moment, as he took in her appearance, and Beth suddenly remembered that she was still wearing his t-shirt.

Her cheeks grew hot, as she crossed her arms protectively over her chest, her brain grasping for an explanation, but coming up short of anything that made sense. "I -I need to ask you something," she stammered, getting straight to the point since she was sure there wasn't a thing left she could do or say that would embarrass her more than she was right now in this very moment.

Daryl remained silent, his one eye peeping out from under his hair, unbelievably blue even in the dimness of the cell, watching her intently. Curiously.

Beth swallowed convulsively, feeling naked and vulnerable under his gaze. His silence was calming and unnerving all at once. What was she afraid of? He could say no, and leave her to this journey on her own, but somehow, she knew that Daryl would never do that. Taking in a deep breath, she let it fly before she lost her nerve. "I need to go back to the farm. There's something -I just ... Will you take me?"

The seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes -the tension building, taut like a cord between them, threatening to snap, and yet Beth forced herself to be still, to remain patient. Daryl didn't ask her why or for what -he didn't ask her anything. A slow dip of his head in an affirmative nod was her only indication that he was even listening at all.

"Really?" The word rushed out in a puff of air with the breath she'd been holding in.

"Yeh," that same slow dip of his head momentarily shaking his hair down to cover both eyes. "You'll just try to go on your own if I don't."

She didn't deny it. _He had come to know her so well._

"Thank you," Beth locked her fingers in her lap, fighting the urge to sweep the hair back from his eyes -fighting the even bigger urge to throw herself into his arms as she would have done .. _before_ ... "I brought back your map. I hope you don't mind that I marked it up a bit, but I outlined a few of the quickest routes," she stood, unfolding it, and started to spread it out on his desk, "I mean, from what I could tell."

"The quickest routes?" Daryl remained rooted in place, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a smirk. "That's ..uh, that's good Beth. Very proactive of you."

Beth turned to look at him over her shoulder, pausing in her task and took in his lopsided grin. "Are you makin' fun of me?"

"Slightly," his smirk spread across his mouth and evolved into a full grin. "Don't need no map."

"But I ...I spent hours going over this," Beth protested at his unwillingness to look at her hard work. Aside from Judith, it was the only thing that had kept her from tearing her hair out the last few days. Something to keep her mind occupied when her thoughts constantly reverted back to him. Naturally, she kept that part to herself, but she had also hoped to impress him a bit with her resourcefulness, and here he sat having a chuckle at her expense.

Daryl folded his arms over his chest, "Maps ain't reliable no more, Greene. Jam-ups, herds, all kinds of shit obstructing the way that ain't gonna be on your map."

He had a valid point, but still ... "You aren't even gonna look at it?" Beth sighed. "Fine," her tone was clipped as she began folding the map closed.

Beth startled as Daryl's palm suddenly came down on the corner of the map, halting her hands. Her nostrils flared as his scent overwhelmed her, the heat of his body burning through her clothing where their bodies now touched, hip to hip. She'd never get over how he had the ability to move so swiftly without making a sound.

"The herd we avoided last winter is probably somewhere here by now," Daryl's fingertips drifted over one of her routes, cancelling it out. "Main roads are no good," he leaned in closer, stretching his arm past her to trace her pen marks on the map, effectively cancelling out the rest of her routes. "Won't chance runnin' into any unfriendly sort with just the two of us."

"Well, I guess I better not drop my name for any navigator positions," Beth turned to see if he'd cracked a smile at her lame attempt at a joke, and froze -their lips just barely a breath apart.

The butterflies exploded in her stomach as she clutched at the desk to keep her knees from knocking together and collapsing beneath the weight of her body. Beth's heart hammering wildly in her own ears coupled with his warm breath fanning her lips had a dizzying effect, and her eyelids fluttered closed as she pictured every romantic story she'd ever read -every romantic movie she'd ever watched. _This was it!_ The part where the handsome hero finally kisses the heroine -the fateful moment when they lean in towards each other, and their lips brush -slowly and tentatively at first, before bursting into a frenzy of passion and longing.

But this _wasn't_ a story - _wasn't_ a movie, either. This was Daryl Dixon, and so instead, he cleared his throat and backed away.

"I'll need a day or two," His normally gravely voice had a harder edge to it -strained almost, as if getting the words up and out was a struggle. "Got something to take care of with Michonne tomorrow."

Beth drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, still clutching at his desk, unsure whether she could trust her legs not to buckle. "Of course. Whenever you're ready," she nodded.

"I'll let you know," Daryl eased himself back into his cot, pulling one knee up to his chest to lean his elbow on it. "Night Beth."

Shoving herself away from his desk, Beth stumbled to the doorway, mumbling her own "goodnight" as she slipped out into the dark hallway.

The moonlight guiding her way, she crept slowly down the stairs, fighting the urge to scream and hit something in frustration. There was only _one thing_ she was completely certain of - _we_ _ll_ , two things actually -but only _one_ of them was in her capacity to control ...she was _not_ Lenore, and she would not thrust her unwanted feelings upon Daryl.

The other, she would never speak of. _Ever._

* * *

Beth stood over her cot, going over her mental checklist -first aid kit, flashlight, food. Check, check and check. Water and weapon -her hand flit to the blade at her hip. Check and check. Truthfully, she should have did this yesterday so she didn't feel so rushed this morning, hastily throwing herself together when Daryl had come into her cell while it was still dark and informed her to "saddle up". Whatever the hell that meant ...

She would have, had she known.

When Daryl had said a few days, she'd assumed he'd meant at least two, but apparently he'd accomplished everything while he was busy avoiding her all day yesterday. Giving her a taste of her own medicine, she supposed. While he'd spent the day immersed in his work, she'd stayed indoors with Judith, helping to keep her restless sister entertained while she remained on bed rest by Daddy's orders.

Beth zipped her backpack shut, its contents clanging together as she dragged it across the bed. It still contained some items from their last run -with her being so heavily distracted, she'd forgotten all about them, aside from the food and medicine. It still had plenty of room for her intended target, so with a shrug, she slung it over her shoulder and moved to her filing cabinet to pen a quick note to her father.

She kept it short and sweet -purposefully vague, but she couldn't just leave without saying _anything_.

 _Daddy,_

 _I should be back before supper, and then I'll explain._

 _Please don't worry -Daryl will keep me safe._

 _Keep us in your prayers._ _I love you._

 _Beth_

Satisfied, she folded the note in half and sneaking quietly out into the corridor, tucked it into the front of his bible, on her way outside. The sun had barely begun to peak over the horizon, as Beth made her way down the dirt path to the gate where Daryl was already waiting astride his motorcycle, talking to Tyrese. She guessed he wanted to get an early start, and get back quicker - maybe to be free of her and this silly burden she'd placed on his shoulders. She shook the thought away ...even if it was true, that wasn't the note she wanted to start her day on.

"Mornin'," Tyrese greeted her with a smile as she came upon them. He'd taken to temporarily manning the watchtower and gate overnight so that Glenn could be with Maggie.

It worked to their advantage since he wouldn't ask the questions that Glenn surely would. Not of Daryl leaving, of course. Daryl came and went as he pleased -just usually not with Beth in tow, unless he cleared it with her Dad first -and to Beth's knowledge, he hadn't.

"You good?" Daryl asked, slinging his crossbow around to hang in front of him.

Beth nodded, as Tyrese wished them a safe journey and moved towards the gate, prepared to let them through when they were ready.

"Alright Navigator, here's your first lesson, so pay attention," Daryl's tone was serious, but there was mischief dancing in his blue eyes. "Startin' the bike," he continued, "Ignition first and bike in neutral," he turned the key, then bent over the side. "See this little plunger here?"

Beth moved to the opposite side of the bike, eyeing the little plunger he indicated with his pointer finger. "Yes?"

"That there's a tickler. You gotta tickle the carbs to get the fuel flowing through the lines. See, like so?" Using his index finger to prime the tickler, he poked the knob until the fuel could be seen sliding through the fuel line.

"Okay," Beth nodded again, moving back to the other side of the bike, as Daryl spread his outstretched legs wider and leaned to the opposite side.

"This here's the choke," he explained, sliding the lever to the side. "You gotta slack the choke loose, and then and only then, can you kick her."

"Got it. Does this mean I get to drive _her_ now, too?" Beth asked innocently, placing emphasis on the word her, and thinking it cute that Daryl referred to his bike as a female.

"You crazy?" Daryl shook his head no as the corner of his mouth turned upwards into a half smile. "Just showing you the basics. If you're gonna ride, ya gotta respect the bike. Merle wouldn't even let me near it until I had that shit memorized."

"I got it," Beth dipped her head again. "First you tickle, then you choke it. That's hard?" she shrugged, then snapped her mouth shut, as a light suddenly went on in her brain at the blatant innuendo of her words -although completely accidental.

Daryl immediately dropped his gaze to the ground, the teasing smirk settling into a grim line as he cleared his throat. Getting back to business, he rose up and kicked the starter. Once, twice and then the bike rumbled and roared to life. "Saddle up," he nodded at the seat behind him, giving it a little gas and revving the engine as he balanced the bike and waited for her to climb on.

Beth swung her leg over the side, mindful of the exhaust pipes, settling into the seat and placed her hands lightly on Daryl's hips, as he lowered himself in front of her. His strong thighs gripped the bike, his legs continuing to balance it as he grasped her hands at his hips and pulled her arms completely around his middle, hauling Beth closer up against him.

"Hold on tight," Daryl called back to her over the roar of the engine, nodding at Tyrese who swung the gate open, as he nudged the bike in gear and punched the throttle.

The bike lurched forward, speeding through the gates and out onto the open road, sending her hair whipping wildly in the wind behind her, as the sun crested the tops of the trees ahead of them and bathed their path in magnificent shades of pink and gold.

Beth leaned forward, burying her face against Daryl's shoulder, and inhaled the scent of him -smoke and leather, and entirely masculine. Her arms around his waist tightened, her thighs gripping his as the vibrations of the bike hummed through her body and she smiled at the sheer overwhelming feeling of complete freedom. _Here_ , on the back of Daryl Dixon's bike, at the end of the world.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Again, bear with me on my medical expertise - I do some mild research so that I know it's at least plausible -and then I wing it! Ha! I do know that severe dehydration can/will cause muscle cramping, but I have no idea whether it can occur in the abdomen, or what effects this could have on a pregnant woman, or a fetus at approx. 5-5 1/2 months gestation, so fast and loose it is!**

 **As for the bike - well, that's something I actually do know a little bit about, as my dad owned and operated a motorcycle shop for most of my life (Allentown Cycle, Inc. -and formerly Allentown Cycle & Salvage) and so I grew up riding well before I was walking. While I couldn't recall whether or not Daryl's (or rather Merle's) 60's vintage Triumph Chopper was kick start or not -it suited my narrative purposes for it to be so, and I certainly hope I did my Daddy proud. ❤️**

 **So with that, I leave you with the fact that our sweet (future) lovebirds are riding off on their own little adventure -oh what will they get into? Hopefully each other, but that's for another day ...**

 **As always -thanks for tuning in. Thoughts? Comments? You know where they go.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 - Human Kindness Is Overflowing, And I Think It's Gonna Rain Today**

Broken windows and empty hallways,

A pale dead moon in a sky streaked with grey.

 _Human kindness is overflowing,_

 _And I think it's gonna rain today._

"I Think It's Going To Rain Today" - Bette Midler

* * *

They rode until the sun had climbed high in the sky and beat down unmercifully on their backs -unpaved back roads mostly, keeping off the main roadways as much as possible. Daryl stopped once, at Beth's request -just long enough for her to quickly slip behind the bushes that littered the side of the road, and relieve herself before continuing on their way. As the hours slipped by, the sun only seemed to burn hotter, the air stickier and more muggy. Despite the high speeds Daryl was able to achieve when they hit a clear strip of road -her top still clung to her, slicked with sweat where she was pressed tightly up against his back.

Beth was by no means complaining. She loved every second she spent on the back of Daryl's bike -even after the soreness in her backside throbbed until it literally became numb, and she wasn't sure if it was from sitting so long, the constant vibrations -or both. But she'd suffer paralysis and a heat stroke if it meant being this close to Daryl all the while longer, feeling the play of his abdominal muscles beneath her fingers through the thin cotton t-shirt he wore. She imagined his skin bare to the touch, a thought that set those pesky butterflies all aflutter, with a hunger she didn't quite understand.

And speaking of hunger, one of a different sort ... Her stomach growled from lack of food, a bad habit she and Daryl had need of to break -skipping meals whenever they left the prison together. She'd stashed some food for them in her pack, sneaking to the kitchen this morning and grabbing whatever looked convenient, figuring they could eat once they arrived at the farm -she just hadn't expected the trip to take this long.

His word had proven to be true, as they finally jumped on interstate-85, and their pace slowed immensely. Daryl was forced to cut his speed to maneuver them through the various traffic jams, steering the bike onto the shoulder at times and weaving between the decrepit cars -some filled with long ago decayed bodies, now mostly only sun bleached bones and tattered clothing. Beth pressed her cheek against Daryl's vest, wanting to close her eyes until they passed through what could only be labeled for what it was -a graveyard. It was then that she realized she _knew_ this spot -recognizing it as the place they had all convened after the herd ran them off the farm -as if they'd all been drawn here by some sort of unearthly tether.

Daryl tensed up, his muscles going rigid beneath her hands, as they passed the pale yellow Mustang that had once held a message scrawled on its windshield for a lost little girl that he'd fought so hard to find. And all for naught, as in the end, she'd stumbled out of the barn right behind Momma and Shawn and all the others. _Beth remembered ..._

The car was covered in dust now, the message long gone -erased with the passage of time ...but Daryl remembered too. Beth clung more tightly to him, silently communicating with her body what she couldn't say with words and hoped it was enough. Even as the car disappeared from their view, even as she felt his muscles relax again, she didn't relinquish her tight hold -couldn't find the will to.

They rode on only a mile or so more before Daryl hooked up the familiar country road that would take her home. _Home_ -it sounded like such a foreign word. A foreign place too, it seemed -the winding dirt driveway almost completely overtaken by weeds, the mailbox where only the G and R of her family's name remained - just barely still visible, peeping up through the overgrown foliage.

Beth's heart picked up speed, beating an almost painful crescendo against her breast as the house came into view and she realized that it _still_ stood. The white paint was cracked and chipping from lack of maintenance, and some of the green shingles peeled back or missing from the roof, but _dammit_ , it was _still_ standing.

Daryl navigated the bike through the tall grass, finally cutting the engine and coasting to a stop just a few yards from the porch. Balancing the bike as Beth stepped down and swung her leg over the seat, his arm shot out to steady her, literally holding her up as the blood rushed back into her lower limbs -tingly at first and then painful.

He was patient, giving her all the time she needed to find her bearings, and for that Beth was truly grateful. When she found her footing, she took a few steps back, giving him the room he needed to swing his own, much longer leg over the bike to dismount as well -seemingly unaffected by whatever had ailed her. And maybe he was -his body accustomed to riding and immune to all of the aches and pains she was feeling as a novice.

Stunned, she gazed around at the destruction they hadn't witnessed, due to their hasty departure. All that was left of the barn was a pile of rubble and ash, and the twisted metal remains of Dale's RV -poor Jimmy's final resting place. From the looks of it, the fire had spread that night, burning a path straight towards the house -but had, by some measure of a miracle, missed it, and veered off to the right and into the forest. Of all the structures, all that still stood was the chicken coup closest to the house, and the tool shed behind the car port.

Shielding her hand over her eyes, Beth's feet began moving on their own, ignoring the stinging bite of the tall grass on her bare arms until she stood below the shade of the cluster of trees that her mother and brother were laid to rest under. Their grave markers were no longer visible, lost to the fury of Mother Nature taking back what had once been hers, but Beth didn't need them -the spot would be forever ingrained in her memory.

She waited for the tears, but they didn't come. The sadness, the devastation -so much loss suffered ...of life, of hope ...and yet, standing here at the foot of her loved one's graves, a soft breeze lifting the hair at the nape of her neck, all Beth felt was an overwhelming sense of peace. It was as if after bringing this place to ruin, all the Walkers had then simply vanished, leaving calm in their wake.

The brush of his fingers was what alerted her to his presence, just lightly grazing along the underside of her hand. Beth found that she couldn't stop herself, didn't care to even try, as she clasped Daryl's hand and thread her fingers through his. He _didn't_ cringe, _he didn't pull away_ -just lowered his head to briefly look upon their tangled hands before his own grasp tightened in hers.

Beth had no idea how long they stood there in the makeshift cemetery hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder -time for the moment didn't seem to matter, and Daryl seemed prepared to let her stand there for an eternity, if that was her wish. She appreciated that -his patience. The chirping of birds carrying on the breeze and an occasional rustling of leaves overhead were the only sounds among the calming silence, proof that the world around them was still in motion.

"Okay," Beth nodded, her words no more than a sigh on the wind, yet they still managed to shatter the quiet. "I think I'm ready now." She wasn't sure if she was speaking more to herself, rather than him.

"C'mon" Daryl gently tugged her back towards the house, but he didn't pull free from her grasp.

He guided them through the tall brush, moving cautiously in the overgrown foliage that Beth had just previously traipsed through without a second thought. It never occurred to her that there could be incapacitated Walkers hidden below, and luckily there hadn't been -but as always, Daryl was hyper aware. As they passed his bike and moved closer to the porch, he finally shook himself from her grasp, un-shouldering his crossbow and instructing her to hang back with a wave of his hand. She did, unsheathing the knife at her hip as she watched him cautiously climb the porch stairs and attempt to peer in through the boarded up front window before banging on it, his bow aimed towards the screen door.

The front door behind it was unlocked, its hinges stiff from neglect, shoved open with minimal effort, eerily beckoning them forward to the once hospitable comforts that it held. It was heartbreaking and a bit overwhelming as she followed him into the house at his approval. But what had she expected, really?

Well, to be frank, she expected the worst -a disheveled mess like most of the houses they'd hid in before the prison -like the house from their run. Yet, by _another_ form of a miracle, the house was untouched. About two inches of dust covered every surface, but it was just as they'd left it. No one had ransacked it, or looted it of its contents. Like a hauntingly beautiful shrine left to remind her of all she'd once had, _and_ could never have again.

"It hasn't been touched," she breathed, voicing her thoughts out loud. "How is this possible?"

"It's off the beaten path. Most folks would've avoided this area -avoided the herd, like we did. Settled elsewhere." Daryl offered the most plausible explanation.

He was probably right. But Beth preferred to regard it as divine intervention just the same. They flit through the the lower level quickly, Daryl confident to let her lead the way as she started up the staircase, her fingers grazing against the family photos that littered the walls as they passed by them. Of Shawn and Maggie, and her -pigtails and front teeth missing in her third grade school photo. Of Christmas and Easter and everything in between ...

As they crested the landing, the worn floorboards groaning beneath their feet in protest, Beth bypassed all of the bedrooms, heading to the doorway at the end of the hall. She had a mental checklist of everything she wanted to grab while she was here, but _this_ was her top priority. _This_ was why she'd came. Kneeling, before the door, she lowered her backpack to the floor and tugged her flashlight free from the side pocket, giving it a test flick before rising back up and twisting the doorknob. Just in case.

The door creaked open with the cliche moan born out of all horror stories, bringing with it the musty smell of decay -not of death, but of staleness and age. Beth wasn't afraid, she grew up in these hallways, helped Momma and Daddy haul holiday decorations up and down these very attic stairs countless times -but even she had to admit, it was a tad creepy. Especially now, when only emptiness remained in a house that had once held such warmth.

 _Put it away._

Brushing off the sadness, Beth started up the steep staircase, the flashlight shining their way. She was halfway up the stairs when something swooped down out of the rafters, startling her before either of them realized it was only a bird -but not before she tumbled backwards into Daryl, his open arms breaking her fall, his palms grazing the sides of her breasts as he grasped her under the arms to steady her. If her breath hadn't been lodged somewhere in her sternum, she might have had the good sense to be mortified -and in fact her cheeks already burned so hot, she was sure she blazed a ripe shade of red, but what had her heart beating in a frenzy was _not_ embarrassment - _no, it was an entirely different monster._ Thankfully, Daryl couldn't see her face from this angle, so with a mumbled thanks, she regained her footing and raced up the remaining stairs.

Her ordeal was quickly forgotten as Beth was momentarily transported back in time, her eyes traveling around the attic, taking in the treasure trove of fond memories it held ...Her old rocking horse -one of her favorite toys until she sadly outgrew it, the red wagon hanging from a hook in the rafters, the wooden dollhouse Daddy had originally built for Maggie that had been eventually handed down to her, Shawn's skateboard from his grunge phase, Maggie's skis.

If she could, she'd haul them all back to the prison for the children to make their own memories with -but toys were not the reason she'd come home. Her eyes fell on the cedar chest in the corner, that with Daryl's help, she dragged to the center of the attic before kneeling down in front of it and gently swiping off the layers of dust that had accumulated before unhooking the latches.

Intrigued, Daryl took a knee beside her, as Beth flipped back the lid, and the smell of cedar wood invaded their nostrils. Gently, she sifted through its contents -bronzed baby shoes, christening gowns, booties and bonnets, until her searching hands found what she'd came for, her fingers connecting with the fabric -still as soft as she remembered. Pulling it from the trunk, Beth brought the yellow baby blanket to her face and rubbed it gently against her cheek, smiling into the knit material.

"This what we came all the way here for? A blanket?" Daryl asked, skeptically.

Beth clutched the blanket to her chest, insulted by his callousness, but of course he didn't understand it's significance -how could he? "Not _just_ a blanket," she explained, her expression softening. "This blanket has swaddled generations of Greene's since my great-grandmother knit it with her own two hands. My grandfather, Daddy, Me and Maggie. It's been repaired a few times in between," Beth stroked one of the mended stitches lovingly, "each new piece added, every stitch, every mar in the fabric is a living testament to our family. And now, it'll swaddle Maggie and Glenn's baby, and maybe ... maybe even my own some day." Her eyes sought his, as she willed him to understand that it was _so much more_ than _just_ some silly baby blanket. "Don't you think that's beautiful?"

Daryl's eyes burned into hers, his gaze suddenly so intense Beth felt as though she needed to look away, or she just might drown in the endless depths of those two blue pools. She didn't though -her eyes remained locked with his, and it felt as intimate as when their bodies had been tangled together in that bed weeks ago. He opened his mouth as if he meant to speak, then snapped it shut as a loud clap of thunder rumbled so hard it shook the house's foundation around them -breaking the spell.

"Shit!" Daryl barked, leaping to his feet and already heading down the attic stairs.

Beth flipped the lid of the trunk closed and latched it, clutching the baby blanket to her chest as she followed after him. Stopping at the foot of the attic stairs to quickly gather up her backpack, she wondered how they hadn't noticed how darkened the house interior had become, as she flicked the flashlight off and stuffed it in the side pouch.

Daryl was already out on the porch when she joined him downstairs, taking in the ominous dark storm clouds overhead. "Probably just a squall," he yelled to her over the roar of the wind, but they both knew that was a lie. The storm clouds were rolling in from all directions -whatever was coming, it was _big_ , and they had no choice but to wait it out.

Ordering her to stay put, Daryl leapt off the porch, his limp all but nonexistent now, and sprinted for his bike, needing to make sure their only mode of transportation remained out of harms way. Nudging up the kickstand he pushed it towards the chicken coup, struggling as he tried to hold the rickety door open and shove the heavy bike inside at the same time, with the wind fighting him at every turn.

Beth had no intentions of remaining useless on the porch. _Together or not at all, right?_ Dropping her things safely within the entryway, she scrambled down the stairs, racing through the yard at top speed, so fast that she came up hard upon the door, and knocked it right into Daryl. Offering him a sheepish grin, she planted her boots firmly, her footing solid, and jerked it backwards, her arms straining against the force of the wind, as Daryl pushed the bike the rest of the way in.

"C'mon," he yelled, tugging Beth free from the door, running so fast that his long gait left him nearly dragging her behind him across the yard, in his haste to get them both to safety.

They had just barely made it to the bottom step as lightening split the sky above and the clouds opened up and unleashed their fury down upon them. Beth stumbled up the porch steps, as Daryl shoved her ahead of him, bending to scoop up her belongs as she rushed inside the house. The rain pelting at his back, even under the cover of the porch Daryl joined her, battling against the wind again, to slam and bolt the door behind them.

Beth set her backpack on the dinning room table, her skin already prickling at the war of words she was sure would ensue for running after him when he'd instructed her not to. But the battle was lost before it even began -Daryl remained silent, dropping his crossbow by the door, and shrugging out of his vest. He draped it over one of the high backed chairs and busied himself with making sure all the windows on the lower level were still boarded up securely, as they'd left them.

The storm had brought on almost complete darkness as it raged outside, occasionally lighting up the sky as the lightening crackled between the booming thunder. Knowing the way around her own home, Beth gathered candles, spreading them out on the dinning room table to take stock of what they had and lit only a few. They'd always used the generator when the power went out, so most of the candles laying around the Greene farm were just scented, or for decoration purposes, and thankfully, no one really ever lit them, so they'd have plenty to get them through the night if need be.

With nothing else left to do but wait, Beth figured it was as good a time as any to finally put some food in their bellies. Emptying what she had procured from the prison kitchen, she spread it out before her on the table -two tomatoes, a pack of saltine crackers, canned peaches in heavy syrup and three bottles of water, one already nearly drained. Pickings were slim to say the least, as she hadn't exactly planned for torrential rain, and one of the tomatoes was bruised from the trip here, but they would make due, as always. What other choice did they have? There wasn't a chance in hell that they'd catch anything out in the storm.

Retrieving two plates and a knife from the kitchen, Beth neatly sliced the damaged tomato, splitting it and a few crackers between each plate, and set the half empty water bottle between them, saving the other food -just in case. With the table set, she grabbed a candle, prepared to go find Daryl, when she turned and was startled to find him standing behind her, leaning in the door frame.

"Oh! I ..uh, dinners ready," she stammered, cursing how stupid she sounded even as the words tumbled from her lips.

Daryl said nothing, as he pulled out a chair and flopped himself down into it. They ate in silence, the storm only seeming to feed the tension in the house. It curled around them in the most infuriating way, until frustration finally forced Beth up and away from the table -away from the stifling silence that made her skin prickle more than eerie sounds of the wind howling outside.

Taking one of the candles with her, she flit about the lower level of the house, gathering a few things she planned to take with her -a photograph of her mother for Daddy, their family photo album, Daddy's _actual_ bible and a few other small trinkets, before she found herself climbing the stairs and heading in the direction of her own bedroom. Beth paused just outside of the door, her stomach suddenly in knots for reasons unknown. It was her room after all - the wooden plaque with her name hung from a hook on the door, and yet she couldn't quite kick the feeling that she didn't belong here -as if she was trespassing somehow.

Drawing a deep breath to calm herself, Beth shook the silly thought from her head and pushed open the door, ignoring the groaning hinges, as she stepped over the threshold. Of course it was unchanged -right down to the wrinkled pair of jeans still laying on the floor beside her bed, where she'd kicked them off as she dressed that morning - _never to return again._

Setting the candle down on her dresser, its light bouncing off the mirror and helping to illuminate the room, Beth bent to retrieve the jeans, shaking them out, then folding them before dropping them on the foot of her bed. Habit, she supposed with a roll of her shoulders, as she walked around the room, her fingers brushing against her old belongings, like she was a spectator at some sort of museum exhibit and not traipsing about her own damn bedroom. She stopped suddenly, her movements stilling as her eyes focused on the kitten calendar that hung from a thumbtack on her closet door.

Her seventeenth birthday had come and went, before they'd even gotten run off the farm, and now her nineteenth was fast approaching, going by the seasons. She wasn't keeping track ...not really. Things like birthdays didn't seem to matter anymore, but she had supposed she should still try to keep track of the months and years passing by _somehow_ \- if anything, for Judith, who had seen at least three seasons now, since she was born.

Standing immobile, staring until the numbers on the calendar blurred and hurt her eyes, Beth looked away, suddenly aware of why she felt so out of place here. She was no longer the same girl who had once occupied this space. The confused and heartbroken child, opting to take her own life rather than fight was gone, and a woman now stood in her place. She had _chose_ to live. She had _chose_ to go on fighting. She had embraced her decision wholeheartedly and had never looked back. Andrea had been right -the pain didn't go away, but Beth had taken her advice to heart and learned how to just make room for it.

Turning her attention to the large bay windows that stood as the focal point to her room, Beth watched the lightening streak across the darkened sky. The daylight had withered away and the storm showed no signs of letting up any time soon -they were stuck here for the night, and Beth didn't have to ask him to know that Daryl wouldn't be pleased with this turn of events.

With a heavy sigh, Beth grabbed the guitar that sat propped in the corner by the windows and sat down on the foot of her bed, cradling it in her lap. A gift for her fourteenth birthday, it had been so long since she'd played it, she wondered if she could still even remember the chords. Plucking at the strings, she tuned it, then began gently strumming a soft melody. She hadn't even realized she was singing out loud until Daryl, clearing his throat in the doorway, made his presence known, interrupting her from her musical reverie.

"Place is locked up tight," Daryl grumbled, as he stalked into her bedroom and situated himself onto the fluffy throw pillows that decorated the bay window seat. "We'll stick together. Safer that way."

Beth set the guitar down beside her, and reached to tug off her boots, taking Daryl's declaration as a call for lights out. More than likely, he'd want to get on the road immediately in the morning, since spending the night away from the prison was never the plan. She could feel his eyes upon her as she dropped one boot to the floor, and then the other.

"Are you angry with me?" She asked finally, when she thought the tension would burn a hole through her gut. It wasn't her fault that they were stuck here -she didn't control the weather. Still, he said nothing, as he lifted his arm up behind his head, and crossed one booted foot over the other, attempting to situate his large frame more comfortably in the tight space.

"You don't have to sleep there," she offered, trying another approach. "The bed is big enough for both of us," she offered, patting the comforter. It was a large bed, after all -almost thrice the size of their cramped prison cots.

Again, she was met with only silence.

With an indignant huff, Beth stood and stalked across the room, propping the guitar back in the corner where it belonged. Her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, she closed the distance between them, bending to lean over Daryl, her breasts grazing against his arm as she jerked one of the windows open. Her nipples immediately hardening at the friction, Beth sucked in a sharp breath, jerking herself back and hoping Daryl didn't notice as a warm breeze penetrated the stuffiness of the room, carrying with it a misting of rain. The moisture immediately clinging to her skin, she knew he'd be soaked by morning if he continued his stubbornness, but warm or not, the breeze felt glorious and it had been so long since she'd felt the country air kiss her skin as she slept -let it be _his_ problem.

As Beth blew out the candle and settled comfortably into her old bed, she felt a stab of guilt for the act of blatant pettiness that was so unlike her. Rolling onto her side, she was about to drag herself up from the bed when she heard the thunk of one of Daryl's boots hit the floor, followed momentarily by the other. He moved with the stealth and silence of a shadow -the dipping of the mattress beneath her, the only indication that he'd joined her on the bed. As she felt the width of his shoulders and back press against hers, Beth smiled her satisfaction into her pillow as her eyelids drifted closed.

* * *

Sliding into consciousness, Beth felt the comforting weight of Daryl's arm draped over her, before her eyes even fluttered open. It was morning, but still storming outside -the room remained darkened, mirroring the shade of ominous gray pooling in through the bay windows. Daryl was still sleeping, his warm breath fanning the nape of her neck, and Beth was loathe to move, but her spasming bladder that woke her would not be ignored.

Careful not to wake him, she eased out of the bed, grabbing her blade off the bedside table by force of habit, and sheathed it while turning to look at Daryl's sleeping face. He looked peaceful for once -his rough features softened with a childlike vulnerability that tugged at her heart, making her forget that she was still supposed to be annoyed with him for his sour mood yesterday. Leaving her boots behind to aid in a more quiet retreat, Beth tiptoed to the door, opening it just enough to squeeze herself through and not wake the dead with its creaky hinges.

After relieving herself, she crept downstairs, her growling stomach leading the way to their dwindling food stash. Eyeing their meager fare still sitting on the dinning room table, she grabbed a candle and headed to the kitchen as she lit it. Most of the food they'd survived off of before being run off was fresh from their own farm, and no longer an option -but there had to be _something_ here.

Tugging open the pantry door, Beth scanned its contents -her disappointment growing. Her home lacked the usual canned food fare, as most things they'd consumed were freshly plucked and prepared as needed -and what wasn't, were just odds and ends. An unopened bag of flour, various sugars momma used for baking, a few bottles of Otis's soda, and a single jar of sausage gravy.

Disheartened, Beth flopped against the pantry door, wondering how good their remaining crackers would taste dipped in cold sausage gravy, when she was struck with an idea. Her optimism returning, she excitedly dug through her mother's baking supplies, hoping she had the ingredients required to make Carol's no eggs-no milk, easy biscuits. Unable to contain her excitement when she realized she did, Beth let out a little _whoop_ , setting the candle on the counter, so she could grab the things she needed.

Lighting some additional candles, she combined her ingredients in a large bowl and began to whip up the dough. Kneading it until it was manageable, Beth spread it on a floured baking sheet, then used an empty glass to cut the dough into little round shapes. Only when she had finished, did she remember that she still needed a means in which to cook them ...

Fighting the urge to scream, her frustration returning, Beth wiped her flour covered hands on the backside of her jeans, and picked her brain on what to do as she glared at the useless stove. It was then that she remembered the generator, and wondered if there was anymore gas stashed in the tool shed beside the house.

It was a fools errand -she _knew_ it as she attempted to peek outside through the boarded windows. She _knew_ it as she tugged on the over-sized work boots sitting in the foyer, and shrugged inside of one of the equally over-sized coats hanging from the coat rack. She _knew_ it even as she slid the deadbolt from the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open. And she _knew_ it as she stepped onto the porch, her hand instinctively going to the knife resting at her hip.

It was a fools errand - _and yet, that did little to stop her._

Determination thrumming through her, Beth leapt off the porch and ran straight for the tool shed, holding her hand up to shield her face from the pelting rain. The wind whipped her hair wildly about -tugging it free from her messy ponytail, as the rain soaked her. It wasn't a long run, but an awkward one -stumbling through the wet and muck in the unlaced boots already too big for her small feet, Beth cursed herself for not thinking this all the way through. She tore open the shed door and was met with more darkness. _Yeah_ -she really hadn't thought this through _at all._

Moving forward cautiously, she stepped inside the pitch black shed, digging in her jeans pocket for the lighter she'd lit the candles with, when her foot connected with something hard and metal -followed by a telltale sloshing sound. Feeling her way in the darkness, she bent to retrieve the gas can, her disappointment returning when she realized there wasn't much in there -but hopefully there was at least enough to power the oven for twenty minutes. She'd come this far, already ...she wasn't going to quit now.

Forcing the shed door back open against the strength of the gale , Beth sucked in a deep breath and took off running for the opposite side of the house where the generator sat. Ignoring the shed door flapping in the wind behind her, she continued on -there was nothing she could do about it anyway. The rain plastered the hair earlier torn from her ponytail to her face, obstructing her vision, as she rounded the porch - _still_ , she refused to stop until she stood before the generator.

Beth dropped the can into the mud, whirling around to the hissing sound of a Walker behind her. Peeling the hair away from her face, she advanced on the decaying mass, shoving herself into it, and using her weight to knock it off balance, then dropped to her knees beside it and plunged her blade deep into its skull, ceasing its incessant growls. Struggling against the heavy weight of her coat, Beth wrenched her arms free of it, leaving it behind in the muck as she heaved herself to her feet, her eyes scanning for anymore of the dead and spotting another one headed her way.

It was still a comfortable distance away, and so Beth turned back to the generator. Hurriedly dumping the remnants of the gas can into its empty tank, it struck her that she had no clue how to start the damn thing! _Ugh_ , those stale crackers and cold sausage gravy were starting to sound better by the minute, as her eyes scanned the multiple knobs and wires on the device, her fingers drifting hesitantly over them, like she was about to diffuse a bomb.

The growls of her dead companion grew louder, as it made its way closer, and with a frustrated shriek, Beth spun around, her knife raised -ready to vent her frustrations, as a bolt whizzed past her head. It found its mark in the Walker's eye socket, flinging it backwards to the muddy ground, as Beth turned to see Daryl -barefoot and thoroughly soaked, stalking towards her with a scowl on his face.

* * *

 **A/N: Ahhh my lovelies ...where do I begin? I'm sorry for this delay. I was having some really bad anxiety towards the end of June, then my Soldier came home on leave for a visit - followed shortly after that by my Marine -plus, all my rugrats home on summer vacation! And somewhere in between all that came Game of Thrones. lol But, the kids are back in school, and my anxiety has been manageable, and most importantly -I'm writing again!**

 **I hope you enjoyed this installment -chapter 13 won't be far behind, as I'm almost finished with it!**

 **If you want to make my day, and leave me some words (please do) -you know where they go!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 - Tell My Love To Wreck It All, Cut Out All The Ropes And Let Me Fall**

 _Tell my love to wreck it all,_

 _Cut out all the ropes and let me fall,_

My my my, my my my ...

Right in the moment this order's tall.

"Skinny Love" -Birdy

(originally by Bob Iver)

* * *

"The hells wrong with you?" Daryl didn't even _try_ to contain his anger, as he quickly closed the space between them, stern eyes pinning her in place, his crossbow dangling from his hand as if it were weightless.

Beth stood frozen, mouth agape -like a deer in headlights, with no good explanation. _It was a fools errand and she was a fool_ -she had known that before she had even stepped outside.

"Daryl -" she'd barely gotten his name past her lips when his hand shot out and snatched her wrist.

Beth dug her heels uselessly into the soft wet ground beneath her feet, searching for the words to explain herself, as Daryl all but dragged her towards the house as if she were nothing more than an unruly child, weighing less than a rag doll.

"Daryl, wait ...stop," her pleas fell on deaf ears as his grip tightened -his fingers biting into the tender flesh on the underside of her wrist. As if a door had been slammed in her face, he had closed himself off from her -the empty echo of her own words were left ringing in her ears.

She knew Daryl hadn't hurt her intentionally -knew he _never_ would, but the foulness of yesterday's mood assaulted her senses as clearly as his fingers digging into her flesh as he ignored her protests - _and_ she had finally reached her breaking point. Her own anger flaring as hot as his now, Beth yelled as loud as she could over the pelting rain and wind, shoving her free hand hard against his shoulder, and wrenching herself from his grip. "Dammit, I said stop!"

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Daryl demanded, immediately whirling on her when she jerked herself free from his grasp.

"I was _thinking_ that we need to eat, and I know I didn't go through all that for nothing!" Beth evaded his grasp when he reached for her again. "I can take care of myself, and I'm _gonna_ turn on the damn generator, so either help me or leave me be!"

Daryl took a menacing step forward, his voice dropping several octaves, not to be deterred as he grabbed for her wrist again. "You had your fun, now get in the damn house."

Again, Beth dodged his attempt. "If you wanna lay around and do _nothing_ until the rain stops, do it -I guess that's _something_. But I'm not going anywhere until I start this. So like I said, either help me or go away!"

Daryl looked momentarily stunned -like maybe he wasn't used to his fiery temper being met with such resistance. "You want me to let you go? Fine," Daryl threw his free hand in the air for emphasis, retaliating the only way he knew how, and going right for her jugular. "I don't even wanna be here."

That stung. _A lot_. Sure their predicament kind of sucked at the moment, and his foul mood wasn't helping -but a little part deep down inside of her had hoped he'd brought her here because he _wanted_ to, not because he felt he _had_ to. And try as she might, Beth couldn't mask the hurt she felt at his words. Like a stinging slap, it was written all over her face, chipping away at the hard facade she was emulating. _She really was a fool._

Daryl flinched, as if seeing her pain, hurt him too, but it did little to stop his ire. "Nobody knows where we are. Did ya stop to think about that? We've been gone for over twenty four hours. Rick, Maggie, your dad -they could be out lookin' for us right now, putting themselves in danger," he paused a moment, trying to check his anger -rather _unsuccessfully_. "And now we're stuck here for who the fuck knows how long, and all because _you_ had to have a damn baby blanket!"

"Screw you, you don't get it!" Beth shot back, her chest heaving, she lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze unwavering, this was _not_ some selfish errand for herself. "I did this for Maggie."

"Yeah, and if I'd came back carrying your lifeless body 'cause you got bit?Think that blankets gonna make a lick of difference?"

 _She hadn't thought of that._ "No but-"

"I woke up and you were gone. _Gone!_ " He shouted louder as he towered over her, his voice competing with the booming thunder that was all around them. "House is empty, front door hanging wide open! And when I find you, there's a fucking geek sneaking up on you!" Daryl flung an accusatory finger in her face, his own chest heaving. "Supposed to be smarter than that, girl!"

Beth swat it away, not at all intimidated by the aggressive gesture, or the way his massive frame dwarfed her. "I saw it! I had time! I was-"

"It was breathing down your god damn neck," he roared back, cutting her off again. "If I hadn't been there ..." Daryl shook his head, as if unable to comprehend the unpleasantness of that thought. "You don't even know what the hell you're doin', traipsing around out here in a damn typhoon with Walkers everywhere! You got a fucking death wish girl, or ya just thick? Now get in the damn house!" He waved his arm in the direction of the porch, yelling so loud, Beth was sure anything living _or_ dead within a ten mile radius had heard him.

She wasn't afraid of Daryl Dixon - _not by a long shot_ -but standing in the rain screaming at each other was getting them nowhere - _and fast_ , and Beth was smart enough to know when it was time to quit ... _pick your battles_ , like Daddy always said. Her jaw set with grim determination, and her eyes shooting invisible daggers at him, Beth shoved her knife into its sheath and stomped towards the porch, _mad as hell_. She'd only taken about five steps when her poor choice of over-sized, unlaced boots finally did her in ...

Slipping in the mud, her ankle twisting painfully at an odd angle, Beth went down like a wet rock, her backside connecting hard with the mucky ground below. Daryl was there in an instant, sliding into the wet grass, and flinging his crossbow to the side.

"You okay?" He asked, all traces of anger gone -only concern etched there now.

"No," Beth sobbed, swiping at the angry tears and rain splattering her face -unsure which was which at this point. Hurt and now thoroughly mortified, she had lost the higher ground -both literally and figuratively. She wanted to continue being angry with him -wanted to grab a handful of mud and fling it in his face, but nothing he'd said had actually been wrong ... it was his delivery that sucked.

Daryl gently lifted her injured foot, rolling her heel in a circular motion. "Can ya walk?" He asked, halting his motions when Beth winced from the stabbing pain that shot up the inside of her leg.

"I think so," she nodded, as Daryl grabbed for his crossbow, sparing a quick look around before helping to haul her up from the ground.

"Lean on me," he instructed, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her hip flush with his so that most of her weight was distributed to him and her good ankle, as he led her back to the house, and up the porch stairs. He left her on the landing, telling her to go get dry before ducking back out into the raging storm -still barefoot and soaking wet, clutching his crossbow.

Beth limped into the house, leaving her wet boots by the door. Her ankle was throbbing and likely already starting to swell -it would need to be wrapped. Moving slowly, and using various pieces of furniture for support along the way, Beth made her way towards her father's clinic space back behind the kitchen, pausing only to grab two towels from the hall linen closet, and toss them over her shoulder.

Straining her eyes in the darkness of Daddy's clinic, she flung open the cabinets, rifling through his veterinary supplies until she found some ace bandaging, as the light in the kitchen flickered briefly before staying lit, and the old refrigerator thumped as it's motor kicked on, startling her. Beth hobbled back to the kitchen as quickly as her limp would allow, flicking the light switch off and pulling the plug on the fridge. There wasn't much fuel, and they needed to conserve what little they had so she could power the oven long enough.

Setting the bandaging down on the counter, Beth reached to preheat the oven, then removed her belt and sheath, dropping them both on the kitchen table. She began toweling off as best as she could, eyeing the wet mess she'd already made of the kitchen floor - _lord_ , Momma was probably rolling in her grave right about now. Beth was doing her best at wringing her sopping wet hair in the towel when she heard the front door slam and the bolt slide home, announcing Daryl's presence before he joined her in the kitchen -dripping wet, and adding to the pools of water she'd already left on the floor. She tossed him the other towel, which he caught one-handed, as he bent to prop his crossbow against the wall.

"Need to wrap that," he nodded his head towards her ankle before burying his face into the fluffy cotton towel, and scrubbing it through his wet hair.

Beth flicked her finger towards the ace bandaging on the counter top when his face re-emerged from the towel. "We need to find you something dry to wear." She had clothing in abundance for herself, but Daryl wasn't likely to fit in anything from Daddy or Otis's closets. Maybe Shawn's? Daryl was much more solid, but they were roughly the same size.

He shook his head, unconcerned for his state of dress or discomfort -only her injury. "It can wait. You first."

A blush working its way to her cheeks, Beth reached for the button fly of her jeans as Daryl moved towards her, knowing that he very well couldn't properly wrap her ankle with her rain drenched skinny jeans plastered to her like a second skin. His cheeks already tinting a shade of pink to match hers, Daryl looked away as she slid them down her thighs, then gripped the counter top for leverage as she wrestled with wiggling the wet fabric the rest of the way down her legs without putting too much pressure on her ankle.

 _Easier said than done._

Beth grunted her frustration, unable to shuck herself free from the wet encumbrance and annoyed that it was only making an impossibly awkward situation worse, as a red faced Daryl grabbed her around the waist and dropped her on the counter top. She gasped as her bottom hit the cool tiles, as Daryl -intent on avoiding her gaze, dropped his damp towel in her lap, concealing her nakedness as he bent to tug her jeans the rest of the way off, as gently as possible.

Beth glanced self consciously at the stubble on her legs, hoping it wasn't too bad. It seemed silly to worry about such things anymore, but here she was, naked from the waist down -but for the skimpy worn out strip of cloth that had once been a decent pair of panties, and she _was_ in fact _very_ worried about it. She released a shaky breath, watching him -her heart pumping as wildly as the butterflies bouncing off the walls of her stomach, as he wrapped his hand around her calf and lifted it to prop her foot against the massive wall of his chest.

Daryl reached for the bandaging, holding one end of the fabric still on the top of her foot, while he gently wove it around her ankle, careful not to jostle her too much. He seemed so absorbed in his task -composed even, like he couldn't possibly be as shook up as her - _except_ , his hands were trembling slightly, and the red in the tips of his ears peeping out from his wet hair, gave him away. _Good_. It wouldn't be fair if she were the only one feeling ...whatever _this_ was.

But even as she thought it, she knew _exactly_ what it was on her end, as she marveled at his big calloused hands -capable of such strength and violence, that now held her with the utmost care and gentleness. Time ticked slowly -yet way too fast, when before she knew it, he was finished, and setting her leg back down.

"Thanks," Beth all but choked out, amazed she'd managed to get the words past the lump that had lodged itself within her throat.

Daryl only nodded in reply, his wet hair falling over his eyes, hiding them -and all they held, from her view. He didn't step away immediately -instead, placed those strong, _yet_ gentle hands on her waist again, tugging her towards the edge of the counter top. Before her breath could abandon her once more, Beth scooted forward, half expecting Daryl to move a step back. He didn't though, and it was too late, as her body slid intimately down the length of his -until her bare feet connected with the kitchen floor below.

Having solid ground beneath her feet did very little to stabilize her, as Beth suddenly felt lightheaded -like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. She clung to Daryl as her heart beat an unsteady rhythm painfully against her breast, and she forced her eyes upward. He was looking down at her -the blue of his eyes calm despite the storm raging both within herself and outside - _but they lied_ , as his hands still trembled upon her waist.

The towel between them dropped to the floor, and if Beth were half the decent girl she thought herself, she'd at least have the modesty to be embarrassed -but rational thought had seemingly fled with her decency. Instead, she leaned in closer _still_ , her eyelids fluttering closed and her lips parting slightly as she tilted her face up towards him. He was going to kiss her - _he wanted to_ , she could feel it in her bones, her pores, every inch of her body that was now thrumming in silent anticipation.

Daryl's fingers twitched where they lay on the soaked fabric of her tank top. He sighed softly, his breath fanning her face, then released her so abruptly, Beth had to clutch the kitchen counter for balance. Her eyelids flew open, as he bent before her to retrieve the towel at their feet, his eyes not quite meeting hers as he thrust it towards her, while simultaneously putting some space between them.

Beth grabbed for the towel, quickly wrapping it around her waist, mortified at her inability to properly read the situation. _She had been so sure ...so certain that he'd wanted it as much as her ..._ She shook her head and flipped open the oven door, shoving the tray of biscuits inside. She couldn't think about this now, not with Daryl standing over her, watching her with those damn brooding sad blue eyes of his.

"I think Daddy's clothes might be too big, but maybe you can find something of Shawn's?" Beth forced her voice to sound normal - _whatever the hell that meant_ , as she gripped the towel more tightly. "Follow me," she led the way, limping out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

Beth took the steps slowly, one at a time, clutching the towel around her waist with one hand and the banister with the other, as she hobbled up to the landing. "Down that way," she pointed to the bedroom farthest down the hall. "Take whatever you need."

Daryl nodded, moving past her. Beth didn't even wait before he was out of sight before diving into her own room. Shutting the door, she flopped against it, pressing her forehead against the cool wood. She felt like laughing and crying all at once -but that was _stupid_ , and she didn't cry anymore -at least, she _tried_ not to.

Taking a deep breath, Beth shoved herself away from the door, and let the towel drop. Her skin was already beginning to pickle from the moisture, so she quickly stripped out of the rest of her wet clothing, and limped to the dresser, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot up her leg with every step she took. Tugging open her drawers, she slipped on some clean panties, delighting in a pair that wasn't threadbare or riddled with holes, as she'd grown accustomed to. She'd be damn sure to clean out her underwear drawer before heading back to the prison.

Opting for an aqua blue camisole, and a pair of old cut off jean shorts -for ease and comfort, Beth limped to the closet and tugged one of her favorite cardigans from its hanger. Shaking it out before slipping it on, she reached to wrestle the elastic band tangled in her windblown wet hair, as she grabbed her hairbrush from the dresser and stepped before the mirror. It took several attempts to brush all the knots from her hair, but soon the brush was gliding through her honeyed locks with ease, and as she studied her reflection before her, she realized that she _almost_ looked _normal_ -like it was just another day on the farm. She half expected Maggie to come bursting through the door to inform her that Momma had breakfast on the table.

 _But Momma was gone._ And Maggie was miles away, laid up on a prison cot, probably worried sick about her. Daddy too. Feeling the stirrings of guilt churn in her stomach, Beth glanced to the bay windows, watching the rain fall in torrents outside -it hadn't even let up a little, and likely they'd be stuck here again for the night.

Sighing, Beth grabbed her backpack from the ground and tossed it onto the bed. If she was going to deal with another day of Daryl's sour moods, then she needed to dull the pain in her ankle or it was going to be all out war. Taking a seat, she opened her pack, rummaging around inside for her little first aid kit, her searching hand connecting with everything _but_ the little plastic box -she wasn't even sure what half of the shit she was touching was. Annoyed, she finally gave up, and after removing the Greene family blanket and photo album, Daddy's bible and the photograph of her mother -dumped its contents out onto the bed before her.

Lenore's manly body spray, the sealed toothbrushes and toothpaste -all the things she'd procured from their run together, sat amongst a sea of gold foiled condom packages and two jars of what Daryl had called moonshine -and beneath it all, her little first aid kit. Beth's face burned red hot as she scrambled to shove the condoms back in her bag, as if Daryl could see through the walls -see through to her very thoughts, and why she'd grabbed them that day in the house. A lot of good they'd done her -she couldn't even get to first base.

She'd forgotten about most of this stuff with the emergency situation that had arisen from their run -and everything that had followed after. Dropping the body spray into the little waste basket by her bed, her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of Lenore, Beth repacked her family heirlooms, and set the toothbrushes on her bedside table. Popping open her first aid kit, she twisted off the childproof cap of the Tylenol bottle, threw back two -swallowing them dry, then packed it away again.

Now what to do with the moonshine? Truth be told, she had no idea what had possessed her to tuck them in her pack that day, while Daryl wasn't watching. Some perverse part of her that wanted to experience a typical right of passage, she supposed. Getting drunk was never something she'd entertained or indulged in while growing up in a household with a recovering alcoholic -even though most of her friends were doing it. She had more respect for her father than that, and she had her whole life ahead of her to experience such things -but that was _then_ ...when she had the convenience of _not_ growing up at the end of the world.

Bending over the side of her bed, Beth tucked the jars safely under the cover of her bed skirt. Out of sight, out of mind -she had no idea what else to do with them, and certainly didn't want one of them accidentally spilling or breaking inside of her pack while she was carrying precious cargo.

Heaving herself off of the bed, putting as little weight on her ankle as she could muster, Beth bent to scoop up her discarded wet things, and headed for the bathroom. Wringing them out over the tub, she draped them over the shower curtain rod, noting that Daryl had already done the same. They'd never dry here with no sun and nothing but moist, humid air -maybe they had enough juice left to drop them in the dryer for a bit?

The aroma of warm baked goods suddenly filled the air around her, leaving Beth with a sense of nostalgia of happier times in her family home, and - _shit, the biscuits!_ Clutching the banister and moving down the steps as quickly as her injury would allow, Beth made her way to the kitchen.

Daryl was already in the kitchen, bent over the stove top and stirring a pot that she assumed was filled with the sausage gravy she'd pulled from the pantry. The jeans and t-shirt he'd looted from her brother's closet fit -albeit a bit snug. He hadn't yet noticed her presence -or if he did, he hadn't acknowledged her, so Beth took a moment to admire how nice his ass looked in the tight fitting jeans, how the shirt clung to his upper body, enhancing the broadness of his shoulders and his biceps bunching under the restricting fabric of the sleeves.

His hair -still damp, curled a bit at the nape of his neck and Beth decided he was in dire need of a trim. He paused from his stirring, his shoulders suddenly growing rigid, and Beth knew that he sensed her presence -sensed her eyes upon him, but she couldn't find the will to care. He turned then, and despite the boldness of her thoughts, Beth lowered her eyes demurely, her lashes fluttering against her pink cheeks.

"Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all," Daryl shrugged with a half-smile, stepping away from the stove and pulling out a kitchen chair for her, indicating she take a seat.

Beth returned his smile as she lowered herself into the chair. It was then that she noticed that the table had been set with two place settings -glasses and silverware ...and her smile grew wider. Daryl's gaze lingered only a moment before he turned back to the stove, busying himself with finding the oven mitts, and then removed the biscuits and dropped them on top of the stove to cool. He gave the gravy another stir before turning his attention back to her.

"Found that in your brother's room," he thumbed in the direction of the sealed bag of beef jerky sitting on the table. "Figure it might make for some good supper," he shrugged, twisting one of Otis's soda bottles open and filling each of their glasses.

Beth smiled, remembering her big brother fondly, and how much he loved his snacks. "There's probably a whole stash of junk food in his room."

Daryl casually rolled his shoulders, "Yeah, well I didn't wanna dig through his personal shit."

"Do you think the generator has enough juice to run the dryer?" She asked, as Daryl turned back to the stove and dropped some biscuits on their two plates, then drenched them in sausage gravy. "Our clothes are never gonna dry up there."

"Yeah," he nodded, laying a plate down in front of her and pulling out the chair across from her, seating himself. "There was another gas can in the shed. Dumped that in too," he said through a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. "Should have enough in there to power us through a couple of days, if need be."

Taking a cue from Daryl, Beth dug into her food, wondering what made him suddenly so agreeable to the possibility of being stuck here with her for a few more days - _if need be_. She didn't linger on the thought long, shifting her concentration wholeheartedly on filling her stomach full to bursting until she couldn't possibly eat another bite.

Her belly full to contentment, and the Tylenol already dulling the aching throb in her ankle, Beth felt like she could fall into a food coma and sleep for days. Instead, she pushed herself up from the table, taking Daryl's empty plate too, and limped to the kitchen sink, turning it on out of pure habit. The pipes groaned within the walls and the tap sputtered, spitting out an ugly orange tinted water -startling her, she jumped back and bumped right into Daryl.

"Just 'cause they ain't been used in awhile," Daryl reassured her, his hands finding her hips to steady her. "Just let it run a few, should clear up."

Beth nodded -she knew he had spoken, but hadn't really heard what he'd said, as she was so focused on his hands touching her. _Again._

"There, ya see," he released her, and took the dirty plates from her hands, setting them in the sink where the water was now running clear. "You wash, I dry?" He asked winging a brow.

Beth laughed at his attempt to be charming. "Geez Daryl, I didn't realize you were so ..."

"Helpful?" He offered, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards in a half smile. "Agreeable?"

"Domesticated," Beth corrected him in a teasing tone of voice, ignoring his snort of indifference as she quickly scrubbed the two plates clean and handed them off for him to dry and put away.

They stored the extra biscuits in a Tupperware container for later, then headed for the living room, looking for something to pass the time, and coming up empty handed when Daryl side eyed Beth's suggestion of playing one of their many family board games. With a shrug of her shoulders, she suggested he make himself useful and go fetch their wet clothing from the upstairs bathroom, so she could toss them in the dryer.

As Daryl disappeared upstairs to do her bidding, Beth hobbled towards the laundry room and flipped on the light. It was a tiny room -only big enough to house their washer, dryer and some shelving on the walls -and the only place they hadn't searched thoroughly upon their inspection when arriving yesterday. On the floor sat two duffel bags -one of them unzipped with something shiny inside reflecting off the light overhead, and catching her eye. Her curiosity getting the best of her, Beth knelt down and tugged the zipper the rest of the way open, revealing the shiny object to be a Sheriffs badge - _a star._

"Rick's old Sheriff uniform," Daryl said from behind her.

"Jesus!" Beth squealed, jumping at the sound of his voice. "You've gotta stop doing that," she scolded him with the shake of her head -realizing that she would never get used to how soundlessly he moved.

She carefully pulled the folded uniform from the bag, and laid it on the floor beside her. A thorough inspection of the rest of the duffel produced nothing useful -just a bunch of kids clothing that would no longer fit Carl, for how much taller he'd become since they'd been run off the farm. Repacking its contents -all but the Sheriff uniform, Beth pushed the bag to the side and reached for the other one. Filled with nothing but women's clothing and half used feminine toiletries, Beth deduced this was Lori's bag. She was about to stop digging, when her fingers brushed against the hard corner of a book, and tugged it free.

It was a photo album, Beth discovered, once flipping it open. Family photos of Rick, Lori and Carl adorning the pages -a catalog of their life and a priceless family treasure. Snapping the book shut, she reached for the hand that Daryl offered, thankful for his assistance in hauling her off of the floor, her other hand still clutching the book. She was bringing it back to the prison with them -and Rick's uniform, too.

After tossing their wet clothing into the dryer, they ended up passing the afternoon away playing Monopoly at the kitchen table. Despite both Daryl's aversion and protests, he managed to snag both Boardwalk and Park Place, and inevitably bankrupted Beth -although she had put up a good fight. Feigning a sore loser, she limped back to the laundry room to retrieve and fold their dry clothing, while Daryl heated up some of their leftover biscuits, fashioning them into little sandwiches with some beef jerky and their last tomato.

Again, they cleaned up the kitchen together, and then Beth headed upstairs, while Daryl double checked to make sure everything was locked up tight before joining her. Like the previous night, he took up residence in her window seat, stuffing himself into the confined space and chewing his thumb, while Beth sat cross-legged on her bed and strummed her guitar for a spell.

"You take requests?" He asked jokingly, heaving himself up into a sitting position.

"Unfortunately, I never kept up with my lessons, so I don't know how to play much," she paused from her strumming to answer him.

"Why not?"

Beth shrugged. "Got interested in other things, I guess."

"Like what?" Daryl sounded genuinely interested -if not nosey.

"Boys," She giggled, sorry to give him such a lousy answer.

Daryl snorted in response, rising from the window seat and joining her on the bed. The candle on her night stand flickered as he flopped down onto the mattress, shoving his arm behind his head, and assuming the usual position. Despite having power, they opted for the dim candlelight out of caution -no need to bring unwanted attention to themselves. Leaning to prop her guitar against the wall beside the bed, Beth extinguished the candle and stretched out beside Daryl, rolling over to face him and fluffing the pillows under her head.

"Am I a bed hog?" She asked, noting that he literally laid on the edge of the bed, leaving enough room for someone to sleep between them, despite the fact that she had a full sized bed.

"Nah," Daryl shook his head. "Just used to not taking up much room. I don't sleep much anyway."

"The nightmares?" Beth asked before she could stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. She knew of them. _Knew_ from the first night she'd held him in her arms, calming him in his fever induced delirium. _Knew_ when he'd clung to her the entire night, even in sleep -and _every night_ after that. _Even_ when he'd chased her off that morning - _even_ when she'd avoided him all day long. She had returned night after night, helping to hold them at bay, as he was _only_ still when encircled in her arms. _To say she'd only done it entirely for him though, would be a lie ..._

To her relief, he didn't seem to be surprised that she knew of them, just nodded as he continued to chew on his finger in the dark, a flash of lightening illuminating the room every few minutes or so.

"Do you have them every night?" She persisted, already knowing the answer, but determined to keep the conversation going.

Daryl was silent a moment, as if contemplating his words before he finally spoke, his voice barely a raspy whisper in the dark that Beth had to strain her ears to hear. "Mmhmm, except when I'm with you," he admitted rather earnestly, making her heart lurch in her chest. "Or maybe I do, but I don't remember them."

Beth propped herself up on her elbow, suddenly compelled to be as honest with him as he'd just been with her -knowing how hard it was for him to share such a vulnerable part of himself with her. "I was there with you. Every night. Until you stopped taking the codeine. I don't know why ...I -I just felt like you needed me."

Daryl didn't reply, and almost immediately Beth regretted her words, worried that maybe her revelation had upset him. _It was kind of stalker-ish, after all_. Her heart sunk at her own blatant stupidity -aside from their heated exchange this morning, the rest of the day had gone so well, and now she'd ruined it with her overzealous mouth and her stupid overflowing no-longer-just-a-crush feelings that she couldn't seem to control anymore!

She was treading on dangerous ground, had been for days now -her rational side warning her that her silly feelings had nothing substantial to offer her -except maybe the potential to shatter her in the end. _She knew this_. But when the mattress dipped with his weight, as he settled closer to her in the bed, Beth chased her rational thoughts away, and inched a bit closer until their bodies were touching.

Minutes of silence passed, as they laid in her bed, surrounded by her childhood, listening as the rain pelted against the bay windows, somehow peaceful in all its chaos, as lightening lit up the night sky every couple of minutes. The thunder hadn't caught up to it yet, but the next round of the storm was fast approaching. She could feel the electricity of it hanging in the air around them.

"Goodnight Daryl," she whispered finally, as she leaned over and pressed her lips to his stubbly face. It wasn't the fist time she'd pecked him on the cheek-maybe it was even something he'd grown somewhat accustomed to, as he no longer flinched at what before she assumed was something he might have regarded as an egregious invasion of his personal space. After all, it was _just_ a chaste, innocent kiss -the same as before.

 _Except_ , it _wasn't_ the same. _Something_ had shifted, and like the electricity flaring outside, it crackled in the air between them.

Beth paused, not withdrawing immediately, her nose still pressing against the underside of his eye. A sudden burst of courage unfurling in her belly amidst the flailing butterflies, she nuzzled her nose against his skin. Slowly, she drew it across his stubble and down the length of his cheek bone, until her lips hovered just over the corner of his mouth -not touching, but so close she could feel her breath intermingling with his ...taste the shakiness of it, the exquisite unease.

Ever so gently, she rested her top lip against his. It was the slightest of pressures - _barely there_ , her bottom lip trembling with the weight of her fear ...until hesitantly, Daryl's own quivering bottom lip came up to meet her trembling one, awkwardly trapping it between his own.

* * *

 **A/N: Well guys ... it only took me 13 chapters, almost 70k words, and HEAPS of sexual tension to finally get to the first kiss! Or rather, the _start_ of their first kiss. Of course, to be true to the characters, it's got to be all shaky and awkward, and full of inexperience -and OMG, I just LOVE IT! **

**Hahahaha, I told you it was going to heat up, and it is ... bet you can't wait for the next update, and you know what? Neither can I!**

 **But a few important notes to explain some things -just in case any of you are wondering ...**

 **Okay, so the farm had several deep wells on the show, and so I figure its kind of like my home here in the mountains -we have no city water or sewage. If the power goes out, as long as my generator is bringing electricity to the water pump (which pumps the water into the house) and the water heater -to warm it (which I'm assuming Hershel's did, as they had electricity and hot running water on the show) then we've got the use of sinks, toilets, etc.**

 **Questions, comments (yes, _please_ comments), you know where they go! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 - Still Falling, Breathless And On Again**

 _Still falling_

 _Breathless and on again_

Inside today

Beside me today

Around, broken in two

Till your eyes shed

Into dust

Like two strangers

Turning into dust

Till my hand shook

With the weight of fear

"Into Dust" -Mazzy Star

* * *

Daryl lay frozen, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage, as ever so gently, he felt Beth's top lip bump against his -so lightly, he wondered if she was truly even touching him, or if he was just imagining it. She hovered there, her breath spilling into his mouth -like she wouldn't move an inch closer without his consent.

A burgeoning warmth unfurled deep within the pit of his stomach - pulsing outward and spread throughout Daryl's entire body, radiating through his heated skin. He should shove her away, spring off the bed and make a beeline for the door - he _knew_ this was wrong, and every voice screaming inside his head confirmed it. Except, it didn't exactly _feel_ wrong. And so before he lost his nerve, Daryl's own trembling bottom lip came up to meet hers.

Their lips locked, parted slightly and then clumsily locked again -a chorus of erratic breathing and thundering heartbeats, rivaling the sounds of the storm crashing outside. With awkward tenderness, they explored each other's lips -Beth's, soft and pliant, already becoming swollen from his stubble and fumbling inexperience in an eagerness to please her -to get this _right_. She wasn't the first woman Daryl had kissed -but she was the first woman he ever _truly_ wanted to. And the blatant honesty of that thought startled him.

Sensing his sudden hesitation, Beth began to withdraw and Daryl's hands were not his own, as they moved upwards to cup her face, steadying himself in steadying her. She released a shuddering breath into his mouth, as some of the tension left her body, and Daryl could taste her fear -it mingled with his own, a heady intoxicating elixir that was as comforting as it was terrifying.

With trembling fingers, Beth's fist tangled in the fabric of his t-shirt, emboldened by his touch, her lips parted slightly as her little tongue darted out to flick against his. The sensation was jarring -a moan tearing from his throat as desire slammed through Daryl with a force that was frightening and foreign to him. It coursed through him like molten lava, setting his blood to fire as it surged through his veins and shot straight to his cock.

His fear was beginning to dissipate, replaced by a throbbing need for more -a gnawing hunger that tore at Daryl's insides, demanding to be sated. With a guttural moan, he rolled to his side, pressing Beth into the mattress, as his knee slid up between her legs and he devoured all the soft sighs spilling from her lips. He could feel her heat _there_ , radiating through the fabric of her jean shorts, as Beth shifted her hips downward to press against his knee, and whimpered into his mouth.

"Please ... " Her voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper -pleading for what, Daryl did not know, and he suspected Beth didn't really _either_. But his body _did_ -betraying him yet again, it fed the insanity between them, urging him forward as he crawled between her legs, lowering himself within the cradle of her thighs and rocked his hips against her.

Instinctively, Beth moved with him, thrusting her hips upwards and tearing her mouth from his to moan her victory into the skin at his throat, sending shivers rippling down the length of his spine, as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. The little squeaks and gasps erupting from her set Daryl's blood to boiling, fueling him on as his hands braced the mattress and he continued to rut against the warm heat at the vee of her thighs. _It wasn't enough._

Dipping his head, Daryl dragged his lips against her jaw, his stubble scratching the delicate skin of her throat as his tongue lapped at the salty sweet taste of her. _Beth, Beth, Beth,_ her name was litany singing through his veins as his blood pounded in his ears and the intoxicating strawberry scent of her pervaded his nostrils, wiping away the last resources of rationale.

With an unsteady hand, he inched cautiously up the span of her ribs, stopping just under the swell of her breast, suddenly uncertain -for all the sense that made while he fucked her into the bed. But -their clothing were on and for all the insanity, he hadn't actually _touched_ her intimately ... Beth's hand was upon him then, placing his palm flat on her chest against the thrum of her thudding heart. Her mouth was hot on his ear, her teeth nipping lightly at his earlobe, and her husky whisper held a trace of uncertainty in its demand. "Touch me?"

The only reply Daryl could manage to muster was an inhuman growl from somewhere low in his throat, as he slid his hand sideways and cupped her breast. Her thin camisole provided no barrier, her nipple immediately puckering under his clumsy touch and pushing up against his calloused palm.

Daryl sucked in a sharp breath, as he flicked his thumb against the hardened nub, the bulge in his godforsaken tight jeans threatening to burst through the seams, as Beth let out a throaty moan, pressing her breast deeper into his hand. She arched her back, again seeking the friction her body craved -the friction only he could give her. _And so he did_ , bucking his hips against her again, as she threw her head back and cried out her satisfaction.

The warmth in his belly flared and spread again, speeding through Daryl's body like a locomotive and converging where they were pressed against each other -the friction of rubbing fabric and the heat seeping from Beth, threatening to undo him. _Fuck -he wanted her._ Wanted to forget about everything and bury himself deep inside of her, bury his cock like he was burying his tongue in her mouth, and lose himself in the sweetness that was Beth Greene.

The thunder rolled in, its low rumbling chasing the streaks of lightening that lit the room momentarily as Beth pushed her hands up under Daryl's sweat soaked t-shirt. He shuddered, goosebumps breaking out along his flesh, as she glided her hands up the length of his back, her fingertips brushing against the puckered skin of one of his scars and ... _Daryl froze._

Reality crashing down on him, as the storm raged on outside, he tore his lips from hers, rolling up and off of the bed, and was on his feet in an instant. His chest still heaving, Daryl staggered backwards, putting some much needed distance between them.

 _What the hell was he doing?_

Lightening struck again, casting shadows as it briefly illuminated the room, and Beth, her breathing as erratic as his, pushed herself up into a sitting position and drew her knees protectively to her chest. Daryl was grateful for the darkness, grateful that he couldn't see the hurt he _knew_ was swimming in those big doe eyes of hers. Hurt, that he had put there.

"I-I'm sorry," Beth stammered in a meek voice, barely audible above the roar of the storm outside.

 _Shame._ Thick, heavy and relentless settled upon his shoulders, bearing down on him and crushing him with all of its weight. He didn't belong here. Not in this house and sure as hell not in _this_ room, putting his hands and mouth all over Hershel Greene's daughter like he had any fucking right to. _White trash, no good, redneck son-of-a-bitch_ \- he was all those things, and more, and _she_ was apologizing to _him._

Well, she could keep her damn pity, he didn't want it. The truth was, in any other life, a girl like Beth Greene wouldn't even have given him the time of day, let alone let him lay here with her, surrounded by the memories of her good upbringing and dry hump her on her fucking frilly floral comforter, and he damn well _knew_ it. _And she knew it too._ There was no use in pretending otherwise.

Suddenly feeling like an intruder caught in someone's crosshairs, Daryl wanted to run -bolt for the door, hop on his bike and never look back. He knew he couldn't do that, so he'd settle for the next best thing, and get the fuck out of this room. _Right fucking now._ Snatching up his crossbow from where he'd propped it against the dresser, and wishing he could retrieve his dignity with just as much ease, Daryl stalked towards the bedroom door.

Beth shot off of the bed with a quickness he didn't know she possessed -even with her injury, and barred his way. "Daryl wait," she pleaded softly. "Please ... _please_ don't go."

The desperation in her voice gave him pause, halting him in his tracks. He let his arm holding his bow go slack, and forced himself to meet her gaze. Beth reached as if she meant to touch him, and instinctively he flinched, so she fiddled her fingertips against the hem of her camisole, instead.

"You don't like to be touched." He knew she was referring to his scars -the reaction provoked when she'd touched his back, shattering the spell they'd woven around them in the heat of the moment.

It wasn't a question, and so Daryl didn't answer her, ashamed that after all these years, _and even in death_ -his father still wielded such power over him. He wondered what would have happened had she not touched him _there_ ... could he have stopped himself? Daryl shook his head, none of that mattered. It was better this way -he wasn't worthy of her, anyway.

"I'm sorry," Beth repeated when met with only his silence. "I won't touch you."

Daryl forced himself to relax a little, rolled his shoulders and propped his crossbow back against the dresser. He wished she'd stop apologizing, but he couldn't seem to find the courage to tell her.

"But you can touch me," Beth continued, her voice a bit shaky, as her fiddling fingertips began to fist the fabric of her camisole, nervously.

Daryl stumbled backwards, shaking his head no. It wasn't right, and he couldn't allow himself to get swept up again. "S'wrong."

"It's not," Beth insisted, as if it was just _that_ damn simple. "I want you to."

Daryl forced his eyes to the floorboards, as he took another step backwards. He couldn't look at her, couldn't let her see how badly he wanted to take her up on her offer - _wrongness be damned_. One of them had to be reasonable. "It is," he muttered, vehemently.

"No, it isn't," Beth insisted, although she maintained her distance this time. "We're both adults, Daryl. No one is else is here." She blew out a frustrated breath, and her whole body moved within the sigh. "Can't you just hold me? There's no harm in that."

Daryl remained silent, eyes still downcast, as lightening briefly illuminated the space again. He should have darted out of the room when he'd had the chance. He should have done a lot of things - _or not done them_ , actually. Even now he could still taste her, still feel the pliant softness of her body.

"I can't fuck you, Beth." The words came out harsher than he intended, but Daryl knew he was saying them to himself more than to her. She did things to him -twisted his guts up in knots and made him forget _who he was_ , in place of _who he wanted to be_. It was dangerous.

 _She was dangerous._

"I'm not asking you to fuck me," she shot back, ire laced in her inflection. He'd never heard her use the word _fuck_ before, and Daryl had to force himself not to laugh at how adorable the goddamned filthy word sounded on her sweet little tongue.

"Can you do that?" She persisted when he remained silent, shifting from one bare foot to the other. "Can you just hold me?"

Lightening flashed again, followed by a clap of thunder so loud, Daryl swore it shook the floorboards beneath his feet. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say no. He wanted- "Yeah," he nodded, shaking the thought from his head. "I can do that."

Limping back to the bed, Beth lowered herself onto the mattress, waiting expectantly as Daryl padded to the other side. He sat down, wondering as to exactly what the fuck he was supposed to do, feeling more awkward than when he'd had her tit in his hand -soft, and supple, her nipple tightening under his- _fucking stop!_

 _How did she expect him to do this? To just allow her to lay in his arms after what they'd just done?_

Instead of telling him, Beth showed him -curling up against his side, and tucking her little body up under his arm so she could pillow her head on his shoulder. She hesitated only a moment before draping her arm across his chest, snuggling closer - _if that was even possible_ , and heaved a sigh that shook her whole frame.

Daryl remained stiff as a board, listening to the storm rage outside, watching as lightening flashed across the ceiling, illuminating pieces of Beth's past life and making him feel even more out of place -like some perverted old man, clinging to false hope that he was better than who he _really_ was. You could dress up a pig and put lipstick on it -but in the end, it was still a fucking pig. _He_ was still a fucking pig.

Daryl wasn't sure how much time had passed as he stared up at the ceiling degrading himself, but the thunder had moved far enough away that it was only a soft rumbling in the distance now. Beth was sleeping. He could tell by her even breathing, and the tiny little puddle of drool accumulating where her mouth was pressed against his t-shirt. Even in sleep, she was infuriatingly adorable -curled around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Inadvertently, his arms tightened around her sleeping form, as Daryl willed himself to relax enough to get some rest. It was painfully clear that he needed all his wits about him when dealing with Beth. Slowly but surely the girl was getting under his skin -but if Daryl was being truthful ... _she was already there._

* * *

Daryl woke to the pounding rain beating against the bay windows, and the comforting heaviness of Beth sprawled out on his chest. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he was careful not to jostle her -content to hold her a little while longer, as the gray light of another rainy dawn crept into the room.

Before last night, he'd never held her, he realized -she'd always been the one to hold him. Apparently even when he wasn't aware of her presence -comforting his subconscious and keeping the nightmares at bay. He hadn't had one since the prison. There was no other explanation -unnerving as it was, other than, _it was because of her._

It made him feel guilty about being angry with her, when he thought she'd abandoned him after his sour mood had gotten the best of him, and he panicked from his errant case of morning wood -that had _everything_ to do with her and their close proximity. He could admit that now. It had returned to mock him this morning, standing at attention just scant inches from where Beth's knee had pushed up intimately between his legs during sleep, making him even more thankful that she was still asleep, and giving him a chance to calm the damn unruly thing down.

Beth was snoring softly, the drool puddle under her mouth had grown a bit from last night. Daryl didn't care one damn bit, as he picked up a strand of her golden hair, smoothing it between his fingers and marveling at its softness. The urge to see her with her hair down, spilling around her shoulders instead of the messy ponytail she usually sported, took Daryl by surprise. _The fuck was going on in his brain, lately?_

Still threading his fingers through her hair, Daryl buried his nose in the crown of her head and inhaled, Beth's hair smelling exactly as he'd expected it would -like strawberries, _and_ rain. She stirred a bit in her sleep, her knee inching closer to his groin, and Daryl froze. If he was working on decreasing the blood flow to his dick, he was certainly going about it the wrong way.

It was hard _not_ to think about such things -like how naturally she fit in the crook of his arm, or how her hand was splayed possessively across his chest. His little bodyguard, warding away the evil machinations of his own fucked up mind. And that _damn_ knee of hers, hiked up between his legs -as uncomfortable as it was comforting ...a puzzling contradiction, for sure.

Like Beth herself -a mixture of softness and strength. Like how patient she always was with his swinging moods - _or impatient_ , at times. She didn't just back down and take his shit like everyone else, and as much as it infuriated him ...he kind of liked that about her. _A lot._

"Mornin'," Beth mumbled up at him, her voice still husky with sleep.

Caught with her hair still in his hand, and unsure how long she'd been watching him, Daryl cleared his throat and fumbled for an excuse. "Thought I uh, saw something in your hair ...a bug or something." A bug? _Fucking stupid, Dixon!_

"You give me fleas like you did to Michonne?" Beth giggled with that same velvety husky tone to her voice.

"Yeah, maybe," Daryl shrugged, quickly disengaging her from his arms and slipping from the bed, putting some distance between them immediately, and turning his back to adjust the bulge in his damn too-tight jeans.

She was stretching when he turned around, her arms pointing high above her head, and her camisole inched up past her belly button, exposing the creamy expanse of the naked skin of her stomach to his view. Daryl blew out an impatient breath - _for fucks sake_ , he was going to snap like a rubber band!

"Breakfast?" Beth asked, as she rolled from the bed and he followed her out into the hallway. "Be there in a sec," she threw over her shoulder as she hobbled towards the bathroom in the opposite direction.

Daryl nodded, figuring she had the right idea as he galloped down the stairs two at a time. Sliding the bolt and pulling open the front door, he stepped out on the porch, surveying the landscape as he fumbled with his zipper and pissed over the side of the railing. There were fallen branches and debris strewn about, and all the tall grass had been tamped down with the violent force of the rain - _well_ , that of which wasn't suddenly part of the pond that had formed in the nearest field - _and_ , it was _still_ raining. The ominous black clouds overhead indicated that it wasn't planning on letting up any time soon, either. Two days now ...Hershel and Rick were probably mad with worry.

Daryl hung his head in shame. _Hershel_ -how could he even look him in the eyes after what he'd done? Running off with his youngest daughter without telling anyone, and then last night ... Tough old son-of-a-bitch would probably run him through if he ever found out, with Rick helping to hold him down. And Daryl knew he deserved it, because even now, he couldn't get the memory of Beth's soft sighs and moans out of his head, the way her body had responded ...

Daryl shook his head violently and tried to force away the images that were currently burned into his brain. _Dammit, he had to stop this madness._ Nothing good could come of what transpired last night -no matter how _right_ it had felt at the time.

Zipping his pants back up, he stalked into the house and shoved the front door closed. Beth was already in the kitchen, heating up a few of their leftover biscuits. They were eating them sparingly, but they'd be lucky to get one more meal of them after this. Their food supply was dwindling fast, and that was just another problem to stack on the growing pile. He couldn't hunt anything in this weather, he couldn't go out foraging and leave Beth alone -that was out of the question. She'd said she thought her brother liked to stash junk food, and they might be forced to test her theory.

Beth was humming as she peeled back the lid on the can of fruit cocktail and split the contents between two bowls. Sliding an oven mitt on her hand, she pulled the warmed biscuits from the oven, then served Daryl before seating herself. They ate in silence, and then just as he'd done previously, Daryl helped to dry and put away the dishes as she washed them.

"I'd like to take a hot shower," Beth announced as she handed Daryl the last of their dishes and turned the tap off, shaking her wet hands over the sink. "Think there's enough fuel?"

"We've been using it sparingly, so yeah," Daryl shrugged as he tucked the bowl he was drying into the kitchen cabinet overhead. "Make sure you save me some hot water," he called after her, as she limped out of the kitchen. It was no longer easy to take such luxurious for granted, and Beth certainly had the right idea. They had the means, so why the hell not. Maybe the hot steam would help clear his head -though he doubted it.

Daryl remained downstairs, giving her time to bathe and dress before grabbing some fresh bandaging from Hershel's clinic, and heading upstairs. Beth was bent over, scrubbing a towel through her wet hair, another cut-off pair of jean shorts hugging the curves of her ass, and showing off a generous portion of the backs of her creamy white thighs from this angle.

He'd seen a million different women dressed more scantily at the bars he'd frequented with Merle -ass and tits spilling out of everything, but none of them had ever affected him as Beth did in her little daisy-dukes. There was an innocence to her sensuality that appealed to him -the fact that she didn't even know how fucking sexy she was, that she wasn't even trying to be ... Daryl cleared his throat, announcing his presence from the doorway, and waiving the bandages in his hand.

"I saved ya plenty of hot water," Beth assured him, rolling her hair in the towel as she seated herself on the edge of bed and presented him with her ankle.

Daryl took a knee beside her and reached for her ankle, trying to ignore that it was attached to a shapely leg, and instead focusing on a memory of his mother doing the same thing with her hair after a bath -and him always wondering how she'd managed the magic towel turban.

"What should we do today?" Beth asked, sliding her arms back into the cardigan she'd donned yesterday.

"I ain't playin' no damn board games," Daryl growled. She'd conned him into it yesterday, and while it did help to pass the time, he'd opt for a trip to the dentist before sitting through that fresh hell again.

"But you're so good at it," Beth stifled a giggle as his fingers brushed against the sensitive curve of the underside of her foot.

Daryl shook the hair from his eyes, and fought the urge to tickle her again -this time, purposely. He decided he liked when she laughed -almost as much as he liked when she moaned ... _Nope._ He wasn't going there again. Concentrating on his task, he blew out an exasperated breath of annoyance as his hair fell over his eyes again.

"When's the last time you had a haircut, Daryl?" Beth asked, as she leaned forward to gently brush the hair back from his face.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "When Merle shaved my head, probably."

Beth laughed, wiggling her toes as he indicated, making sure the bandaging wasn't too tight.

"What's so damn funny?" Daryl peered up at her from behind the curtain of his unruly hair, feigning insult.

"Just having a hard time picturing you bald, is all."

"If you were tryin' to butter me up to play monopoly with you again, you suck at it," Daryl teased her, rolling the last of the bandage around her foot, and tucking in the ends.

"I'd like to get after you with a pair of scissors," Beth said, reaching to brush the hair from his eyes again.

"Just gonna grow back," Daryl shrugged, groaning as he hauled himself up off of the floor and sat beside her on the bed. "Why bother?"

"So you could see, maybe?" It was Beth's turn to shrug. "Besides, you have nice eyes. Shame they're always covered up."

 _Was she serious?_

"C'mon, stop it," Daryl murmured, knowing that he probably sounded like a huge dork, but not really sure how how else to react. He could feel the tips of his ears growing hot already.

"Oh that's right, Daryl Dixon probably doesn't do compliments," Beth teased him, rolling her eyes as she ribbed him gently with her elbow.

"Ain't nothing to compliment," he answered quickly, embarrassed at the nervous laugh that followed his words, as his finger found its way to his mouth and he began chewing it wildly. Was he blushing? _Fuck, he hoped not._

"Not from where I'm sitting." There were no traces of teasing in Beth's tone now. She lowered her eyes demurely, as if she'd suddenly grown shy.

Yep, his ears were _definitely_ hot now, probably bright fucking red, too-

"So ...Can I?"

"Hmmm?" Had she asked a question? It was suddenly very hard to concentrate, as Daryl found himself slipping in the deep blue hues of her eyes.

"Give you a trim?" Beth persisted. "It would help pass the time," she offered, trying to sweeten the idea.

Daryl shook his head, clearing the fogginess from his brain. "I'd have to be pretty damn drunk," he laughed.

"It's funny you should say that," Beth tossed him a wicked smile as she slid down the side of her bed and to the floor.

"The hell you doing, Greene?" Daryl watched with avid curiosity, as she flattened herself against the floor and reached under the frilly skirt-thing that hid the box spring of her bed.

"Hold on," her voice sounded muffled, as Beth procured one, then two mason jars of clear liquid from under her bed. "You're getting that haircut Dixon," she sounded determined as she sat up and dropped one of the jars in his lap. "So drink up."

Daryl fumbled to steady the jar before it toppled from his lap. "Are you serious? Where the hell did you get these from? You got a secret distillery under your bed that I don't know about?"

Beth smiled, extending her hand so he could help her up from the floor. "They're from that run we went on. Remember? The stash in the basement."

He remembered. There were parts of that day that he remembered better than others -mostly, the way Beth had stepped up and taken charge, having his back when he needed her the most. But there were other things too -things he _tried_ to make himself forget ...like the way the smooth skin of her stomach had felt under his fingertips, and the soft texture of her hands flitting across his naked thigh while she stitched him up ...

"You brought them along?" That seemed _very_ ...unBeth-like of her.

"Not purposely. With everything that had happened, I never had the chance to fully unpack my bag."

Her reasoning sounded credible. Not like he thought Beth Greene incapable of lying or anything -she was probably damn good at it too ...the sweet ones always were.

"Nah, I'm good," Daryl shook his head. When he'd told himself he needed to keep his wits about him, that didn't include getting lit on moonshine with Beth -no matter how tempting the offer. It was probably grade A, 120 proof good quality shit, too. The rednecks of the south did not mess around with their booze. "You go ahead though," he handed the jar back to her. "Do your rite of passage shit, or whatever."

"Really?" Beth didn't bother trying to hide her disappointment. "My first drink, and you're gonna make me do it alone?"

"Yep," Daryl nodded, pushing himself up off the bed.

"So what, are you my chaperone now?" Beth asked, her eyes following his every move as he resettled himself in the window seat - _another_ safety measure.

"Just drink plenty of water," Daryl grumbled with the flick of his wrist, as he hunkered down in his usual spot that was too small for his large frame, and began chewing his thumb nail.

"Yes sir, Mr. Dixon," Beth mocked him in a playful sing-song voice, as she twisted off the lid of the jar and took a small sip, her nose wrinkling as she swallowed the coarse liquor. "Is it supposed to burn?" She asked innocently, her voice a tad raspy.

Daryl chuckled despite himself, it was definitely a hell of a first drink. "Only if it's a real drink," he nodded his confirmation.

Beth brought the jar to her mouth again, this time putting on a good show of bravery and keeping her cringing in check as the fiery liquor burned a path down her throat. "Second round's better," she shrugged nonchalantly.

She took a few more sips, then stood and limped to the window seat, barely giving Daryl enough time to haul himself up and give her some room before she sat fully on him. He gave her the stink eye as she plopped down beside him with a mischievous look glistening in her pretty blue eyes, and offered him the jar again.

"C'mon Mr. Dixon," she cooed, "before I get drunk and can't wield a pair of scissors properly."

Daryl heaved a heavy sigh, as he side-eyed her from underneath the fringe of his hair. The house _was_ locked up tight, and they _were_ relatively safe. What would a few sips of moonshine hurt so the girl didn't have to drink alone? _He really shouldn't ..._ The fact that it was getting harder and harder to say no to her was not lost on him.

"Unless ..." Beth quirked a brow as she issued him her challenge, "you're _afraid_?"

 _She'd gone and done it._ Beth had thrown down the gauntlet and went straight for his jugular.

Daryl's hand closed around the mason jar and brought it straight to his mouth without hesitation. The coarse liquid burned straight to his gut and settled like a blazing volcano. "I ain't afraid of nothin'," he shot back, his voice more gravelly than usual.

Challenge accepted.

* * *

 **A/N: But seriously ... I simply couldn't resist the urge to give a nod to my favorite TWD episode. The Greene Family Farm isn't exactly the Moonshine shack -and no, they won't be burning anything down -at least not _literally_. **

**Okay, so it's that time again, folks. Time to let me know how this chapter made you feel! Ready? Set ... GO!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So here it is, my gift to you on this special 100th premier episode of TWD, day. And what better way to kick it off, than by celebrating our girl -who _should_ be there too ... I hope you enjoy this chapter ...it's been a long time coming. ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 15 - She Broke Your Throne And She Cut Your Hair, And From Your Lips She Drew The Hallelujah**

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof,

You saw her bathing on the roof,

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.

 _She tied you to her kitchen chair,_

 _She broke your throne and she cut your hair,_

 _And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah ..._

"Hallelujah" -Jason Castro (originally by Leonard Cohen)

* * *

 _It was a mistake_. He'd known it from the first sip of alcohol. The second, the third -each one going down easier than the last, until half the jar of moonshine was settling deep in his belly like the warm embers of a dying fire -his head heavier, his brain a tad fuzzy.

Beth sat across from him in the window seat, her knees folded against her chest, recounting some memory of bygone days and the antics of the Greene children growing up. Daryl had no such fond memories to share -no funny tales or family traditions, so he kept quiet, content to listen to the musical lilt of Beth's voice amidst the patter of the rain falling outside.

Her magic towel turban lay abandoned on the floor by his feet, and her un-brushed waves tumbled freely about her shoulders -a cloak of spun gold, following the animated shake of her head, ethereal-like in the flickering candle light. He'd wished for that very thing this morning when she'd lain sleeping in his arms, and he found himself returning again and again to that moment -to that _feeling_.

"Do you miss him?" Beth's question broke through the void of Daryl's thoughts, tugging him back to the present and away from the warmth of the bed and the warmer body of the girl who'd been wrapped around him -sitting before him now.

"Miss him?" Daryl repeated her question. He reached to set his jar on the floor beside him, thinking it best he slow down on the moonshine for the time being.

"Your brother." Beth pushed one hand through her hair, moving it from her face, her fingers gliding through the unruly waves as she patiently awaited his answer.

Daryl's fingers flexed, itching to feel her hair again, to let his hands get lost in those silken strands. "Merle was a piece of shit," He rolled his shoulders into a shrug, bringing his hand to his mouth and chewed his thumb instead.

Beth returned the shrug, her hand drifting from her hair to pull up the cardigan that was slipping off her shoulder. "He was still your brother. It's okay, ya know, if you do ..."

He _did_ miss his brother. But even just admitting it to himself made him feel the heavy weight of guilt. Merle had said and done despicable things, and to her own family members -but he _was_ blood. What no one understood is that Merle didn't die to redeem himself -Merle didn't want redemption. His death had been an act of kindness towards Daryl that none of them had the gravity to comprehend ... and he didn't have the capacity to explain it, neither.

"Don't matter," he sat up suddenly, wanting to shift the direction of the solemn conversation. He'd spent endless hours mulling over the strained relationship he had with his brother, and mulling didn't change shit. It was pointless.

"It _does_ matter," Beth shot back, her eyes widening as they bore into him. "But if you don't wanna talk about it, all you have to do is say so."

"I don't," Daryl's tone was clipped, as he pushed himself up from the window seat and stretched his legs, trying to ignore the slip of naked skin at Beth's shoulder, as her cardigan slid down her arm again.

"Ready for that haircut then?" She asked, the mischievous look flooding her eyes again, as they crinkled at the corners. She stood up quickly, and swayed on her feet, unaccustomed to the effects of the alcohol.

Daryl reached out to steady her, his hand lingering on her hip way longer than necessary. "You're dead set, ain't ya?"

"Yep," Beth beamed up at him, showing no indication that she cared about his current hand placement.

Daryl took a few steps back, taking his grabby hands with him, and attempted to shake the fuzziness from his brain. "I'm gonna go take that shower." A splash under some cold water would do him some good, even if it defeated the purpose of actually having the luxury of hot water.

"Okay," Beth nodded, limping towards her dresser and setting her jar down. "There's clean towels on the shelf behind the door."

Daryl nodded his thanks, as he slipped out in the hall and headed towards the bathroom, cursing himself with every step, and thankful for some space to get his jumbled thoughts together. It wasn't even sunset yet, and he was already panicking about their sleeping arrangements -knowing full well that he didn't have the strength to deny Beth if she asked him to hold her again. And also knowing that he had damn well better dig down deep and find it.

Ducking into the bathroom, Daryl flicked on the light and shut the door behind him, bending to grip the sides of the sink as he stared at himself in the mirror. He was a fucking mess, and a goddamn coward, and he knew the real reason he wouldn't deny her _wasn't_ because he _couldn't_ -but because _he didn't want to._

"Get your shit together, ya pussy," he chastised himself, before pushing off the sink and grabbing for the button fly of his stupid too-tight fucking fitting jeans. He considered lighting them on fire, then realized with great annoyance, that he hadn't brought a change of clothing along to the bathroom with him.

Sighing, Daryl reached for the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it up over his head, catching a glimpse of the scars that littered his back in the mirror's reflection. It had been a long time since he'd laid eyes on them, but he didn't have to see them to know they were there. He could still _feel_ them -feel the bite of the leather, the shame that came with them -every fuck up, every failure ... another layer of scar tissue.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his eyes over his shoulder, forced himself to _look_ at the horrid gnarled maze of puckered flesh that was his back -his cross to bear. It was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting.

Tearing his gaze away, Daryl tossed his t-shirt onto the toilet and angrily kicked out of his jeans, yanking the shower curtain open with such force, he nearly ripped it from the hooks. His boxers came next, as he reached to turn on the shower, then stepped under the spray before bothering to check the water temperature.

The water was cool, beating down on his heated skin while he went through the motions, reaching for whatever shampoo and soap was at his disposal, and scrubbed himself clean. Laying his head against the wall, Daryl pushed the faucet in, contemplating his next move as beads of water dripped from his naked body and splattered against the aging porcelain of the old tub beneath his feet. Whatever the answer was, he wasn't going to find it here.

Stepping out of the shower, Daryl grabbed for a towel, and scrubbed it against his body, drying and then quickly dressing. His hair was still dripping wet, as he padded softly down the hall on his bare feet.

 _"Well your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof ...Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya..."_

Beth was singing, the gentle tune of her guitar carrying the melody of her voice as it floated out into the hallway and wrapped around him -dragging him forward like the song of a siren. And like the sailors of lore, he was helpless to follow ...

 _"Well she tied you to her kitchen chair, and she broke your throne and she cut your hair ... And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah ..."_

He paused outside the bedroom door, listening -letting the words wash over him.

 _"Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelu-"_ She stopped abruptly as the door groaned with his weight and Daryl pushed into the room.

"Ain't gotta stop on my account," He mumbled, as he took in her preparations in his absence. Beth's desk chair pushed into the center of the floor over top an old sheet, and the scissors and comb laying at the foot of her bed beside a handheld mirror and a folded pile of clean clothing. She'd thought of _everything._

"No, it's okay," Beth scooted to the edge of the bed and propped her guitar against the night stand. "Best to get at you while your hair's still wet."

She helped herself to another sip of moonshine and pulled her hair back into the usual messy ponytail, as Daryl plopped down into the chair, well aware of his child-like disposition as he sulked with his arms crossed.

"It's just a haircut Daryl," Beth smiled at his overly dramatic antics, as she limped to stand behind him, and tucked her discarded towel around his shoulders.

 _It was so much more than that_ ... her hands upon him, their close proximity, his urge to touch her when he had no damn right to ... but Daryl couldn't tell her that, so he huffed and continued to pout, instead.

Her hands were steady as Beth tugged the comb through his hair, smoothing it with the palm of her hand. She worked her away around to the front of him, nudging herself between his knees, as she brushed the hair down over his eyes, and reached for her scissors.

Daryl sucked in a ragged breath, the hair covering his eyes doing little to obstruct his vision -the delicate curvature of her collarbone, the slope of her neck, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth in concentration. She smelled like strawberries and a hint of moonshine, of warm summer rain and reckless abandonment.

She stepped over one of his knees, straddling it as she worked her way around to the side of his head, tilting it this way and that as the scissors made their little snipping sound and bits of his dark hair tumbled to the stark white sheet below. Daryl grew restless, even in Beth's quick and careful precision. He gripped his knees with sweaty palms, to keep from reaching out to her, as her feather-light ministrations stirred the heat in his belly.

"Almost done," she placated him in an attempt to soothe, her nimble fingers maneuvering the comb and scissors, while she moved around to attack the back of his head -as if she could sense the tension rolling off of him in waves, and mistook it for something else.

She'd been careful about touching him since last night. Slipping sometimes, like when she'd pushed his hair out of his eyes earlier -but other than that, she'd seemed intent upon keeping her word -that is, _until now._

"I liked the way your hair was when you's first came to the farm," she told him between the _snip snip_ of the scissors. "A little unruly, but I could still see your eyes."

"Didn't know you noticed," Daryl answered, her admission causing a strange fluttering in his lower abdomen.

"There's a lot I notice," Beth's voice dropped to that husky tone from this morning, laced with innuendo, and Daryl knew he was fucked as she limped around to admire her handy work.

The mischievous look lighting up the blues of her eyes, she bent to retrieve his earlier discarded jar of moonshine, and tilted it to her lips, knocking back a gulp before pressing it into his hands. It was another silent challenge she was issuing, _and again_ , he fell into her trap so easily, throwing back the rest of the jar's contents in the false hope that it would cool his ardor. It hit his empty stomach in an explosion of heat, as Beth exchanged her scissors for the handheld mirror at the foot of the bed and divulged him of the now empty mason jar, dropping it to the sheet below with a _thunk_ , and emboldened from the alcohol, slipped herself into his lap.

Straddling his thighs, Beth presented Daryl his reflection in the mirror. "What do you think?" She asked as she held it up to his face for his inspection.

Daryl blew out a ragged breath. He didn't give a shit about his hair, or anything else, but the soft pliant body sitting atop him, and the moonshine pumping through his blood, quickly depleting the last reserves of his reasoning. His hands gravitated to her waist, holding her at a distance, as a low growl rumbled up through his chest -a _final_ warning.

"Think you need to drink some more water." Daryl gently pushed her back, his foggy brain fighting against his body's baser reaction. It would be so easy to just give up, _to let go ..._

"Still chaperoning, Mr. Dixon?" Beth cooed, nudging against the push of his arms until her thighs completely encased his, the bulge in his pants answering the call to her heat, as it began straining against the coarse fabric of his jeans. "God forbid ya let anyone get to close," her mocking words a breathy whisper fanning his face, her lips just scant inches from his.

Something snapped inside his head, a chord pulled taut from the constant strain, as Daryl momentarily lost the war, giving control over to his body, as his hands slid down to cup Beth's ass, hauling her up hard against his growing need, and the solid wall of his chest. "Know all about that don't ya?" He growled, flexing his hips against her. "Lost two boyfriends and ya can't even shed a tear."

His harsh words having the desired effect that his actions lacked, Beth pulled back, leveling him with her gaze, "You're judging me? How many notches are in your belt?" She shot back at him - _an eye for an eye._

Daryl blanched at her words -the epitome of dishing it out, yet not being able to take it -he hadn't truly meant what he'd insinuated ... _but_ , had she? It pissed him off that it fucking mattered to him, but goddammit, _it did_. "Is that what you think of me?" He hated the way his own voice sounded in his ears -dripping with the insecurity that he couldn't disguise.

"No." Beth lowered her eyes. He could hear the shame she felt in her voice, and _that_ pissed him off too.

Gripping her waist, he swung her up, lifting himself from the chair and dropping her onto it -all in one fluid motion. Ignoring her startled gasp, he took a few steps backwards and ran a shaky hand through his freshly cut hair -realizing she'd taken the bare minimum off in an attempt to ease his discomfort.

"What game are you playing, Greene? I've done _everything_ you asked -your goddamn trip for blankets, your stupid fucking board games and biscuits," like a caged animal, he paced the floor before her and slammed his open palm down on the dresser, rattling her half empty jar of moonshine, his voice growing louder with every word. "Your hooch and haircuts ... What the fuck more do you want from me girl, huh?"

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't give a crap!" Beth stood with such force, the chair toppled to the ground behind her. "Like what's happening between us doesn't matter, like it doesn't mean anything to you ... _It's bullshit!"_

"Is that what you think?" The truth of her words ringing in his ears, Daryl took an intimidating step forward.

"It's what I know," she shot back, a proud tilt to her chin as she took her own shaky step forward, refusing to be intimidated by his antics - _as usual._

"You don't know _nothing_ ," Daryl hissed at her between clenched teeth.

"I _know_ what I _want_ ," Beth's eyebrows rose as she flung the insinuation into the air between them, feeding the tension that bounced off every corner of the room.

 _Like it was just that fucking simple._

Surprising himself as much as he did her, Daryl lunged forward, trapping Beth's face in the cup of his hands, as he brushed his lips against hers. Softly at first, then growing more urgent, as Beth eagerly kissed him back -because for her, _it really was_ just that fucking simple.

And who the fuck was he kidding? He wanted _this_ -wanted _her_ , more than he'd ever allowed himself to want anything before -and she, _God help her_ -she wanted _him_. The gravity of that realization slammed through him with such force, it nearly brought Daryl to his knees. What he'd ever done to deserve such a thing, he wasn't sure he'd ever fully know or comprehend, _and fuck_ , he was a bastard, but he would take it -take this one moment in time, with this woman who awoke things in him that he'd _never_ felt before, and likely never would again.

Beth's arms wove up around his neck, and their knees knocked together as Daryl drove her backwards, until the backs of her thighs hit the mattress and she folded down upon it, him falling with her -falling ... _he was falling_ ... into a weightless void of driving need and intoxicating kisses laced with the taste of moonshine.

Daryl wasn't sure how long he kissed her -could have been mere minutes, or hours ...he was _lost_ ...he was _found_ , he was loathe to stop ... His trembling hands pushed her cardigan down the length of her arms, and he brushed his palms in its wake, marveling at the supple softness of her bare skin, and how his simple touch could evoke the goose bumps that broke out along the perfection of her flesh.

With impatient hands, Beth shrugged the rest of the way out of her cardigan, and reached for the hem of her tank top, fumbling beneath him, as she tugged it up over her head, baring her breasts to his eyes. Her nervous giggle and the sudden blush in her cheeks belying her confidence, as Daryl gaped openly at her bare chest.

Again, his hands shook as he reached to touch her, tracing his fingertips across the length of her collarbone and down the center of her chest, to the indent of her belly button, circling back up -as if his courage was slowly building. Beth sighed and arched her back, her eyes never leaving his face as he finally cupped her breast, gently testing its weight in his hand as he grazed a curious thumb across her taut nipple, smiling as it teased a moan from her lips.

Emboldened by his pleasure in pleasing her, Daryl dipped his head to draw her nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue gently across the tightening bud, as Beth's stomach contracted with every stroke. Her hands were in his hair again, as she tugged his mouth back up to hers, curling her tongue around his as his hips rocked with hers -a dance they were both familiar with now -a dance they intended to finish this time.

"I want to feel you," Beth's plea was a murmur against his lips, as her own trembling fingers inched towards the hem of his t-shirt. "Against me. On my skin," she explained, her eyes imploring him to understand.

Daryl looked down, avoiding her eyes, as he released her lips and blew out a shaky breath. He didn't want her to see the source of his shame, his scars -to touch their ugliness and taint her beauty. She couldn't possibly understand his internal struggle -that he battled his insecurities _even now_ -they rose up, threatening to steal this moment from him.

Beth's hand crept up to stroke his face, sensing his withdrawal. "It's okay, Daryl. You don't have to if you can't ... I understand."

And she wasn't just saying that to placate him. Daryl knew it- _felt_ it with every fiber of his being. And for all her goodness and kindness, always putting everyone's feelings before her own - _he could give her this_ , this one time, himself - _fully_. No hiding. No holding back. _He wanted to_ , he realized.

Pushing himself up to his knees, his gaze locked with hers, Daryl reached for the hem of his t-shirt, his hands quivering as he pulled it up over his head -quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, and tossed it to the floor. His chest heaving from the effort, he took a moment to steady himself before falling back into her open arms -both of them gasping at the first contact of feeling naked skin on naked skin.

The sensation was as jarring as it was pleasurable, and Daryl captured her lips again, needing this moment to be more emotional than sexual, as his hands gently framed her face, and he tugged the ponytail from her hair so he could finally comb his fingers through her waves. They spilled into his hands like warm honey, threading between his fingers like soft spun gold.

Beth moaned her approval into his mouth, her hands beginning their own curious exploration, she laid them flat against his belly, gauging his reaction. Daryl shivered, groaning against her lips as she traced the contours of his muscles, pushing her palms upwards to tangle in the sprinkle of hair on his chest, before circling around and following the path of hair to where it narrowed and dipped below the waistband of his jeans. His breath caught in his throat, as she pushed her hand down between their bodies and palmed him through the rough denim of his jeans. Daryl froze momentarily, fighting his instinct to pull away, and let his body respond as it wanted, pushing into her hand instead, as he whimpered his surrender into her mouth.

She caught his cry with her tongue, and pushed it back into his mouth, her silent plea for him to touch her too, as she arched her back and lifted her hips upwards, searching for that friction. Taking her lead, Daryl shoved a clumsy hand between them, and brushed his hand between the vee of her thighs, cupping her where the heat radiated off her in droves.

Beth tore her mouth from his and cried out, as her hips jerked up off the bed and into his palm. Her reaction giving him a burst of confidence, he flicked his wrist, applying pressure with his fingers, and was rewarded with another husky moan as Beth left crescent moons in the skin of his biceps with her nails.

He took her mouth again, unable to resist the soft fullness of her lips -already swollen from his clumsy kisses. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hand from between their bodies and pinned it to the mattress by her head as he rocked his hips against her once more, feeling that same heat radiate right through his jeans and wondered how hot she was inside. _Hot and tight_ -the thought alone was nearly enough to undo him, as he drove her hips into the bed, grinding in a slow circle, then thrusting upwards.

"Daryl _fuck_ ," Beth gasped.

His lips tugging into a half smile at that dirty word on her pretty tongue again, Daryl released her wrists, not stopping her when they went straight for his button-fly. She grunted as she fought and fumbled to push them down and over his hips.

"What's your rush, sweetheart?" He smiled against her ear, leaving a trail of kisses down the line of her jaw. His dick was so hard it was bordering on painful, but they'd come this far, and he intended to enjoy every second of it.

"Daryl -I ... _please_ ," She begged him to understand -even if she didn't truly understand herself, somehow though, _he knew_.

Rolling up off of her took great effort, but it was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Shushing her protests, Daryl forced his hands to be steady as they connected with the button on her shorts, and he plucked it free. The zipper came apart on its own, sliding down as he worked her shorts open, and tugged them down her hips, mindful of her injured ankle, he pulled them the rest of the way off and tossed them somewhere behind him.

For all her passionate protests, Beth's cheeks flushed red as her saucy lace panties, as Daryl settled back down on the bed beside her. She was the most beautiful fucking thing he'd ever seen with her kiss swollen lips, flushed cheeks and her hair sprawled out behind her in a flaming mane of burnished gold that glistened in the candle light.

Daryl pushed himself up on his elbow, watching her under hooded lashes, as he drifted his fingertips across the flat planes of her belly, stopping at the waistband of her panties -pretending his ears weren't burning red to the tips, as he slid his fingers just under the elastic band. Her breath hitched in her throat, as Beth gazed up at him expectantly, his fingers twitching nervously against the brush of her curls -waiting for her permission to proceed, for as ridiculous as it seemed. But Beth understood - _she always did._

Grabbing his elbow, she pushed his hand in the rest of the way, "touch me," she urged him forward in that husky voice that sent a shiver coursing through him.

Forgetting his nervousness, he pushed past Beth's curls and slid a finger between her lips, groaning aloud with her, as he was met with her slick wet heat, coating his fingers. He pushed further, his seeking finger finding the nub at her core, and Beth cried out his victory as her legs shook and her thighs clamped down around his hand, staying him.

"I can't, please ... _Daryl_ , please ..."

His name on her lips was a fucking choir of angels, raising him up before they tossed him to the flames. Daryl knew he was beyond salvation, but he'd gladly burn for eternity for this one night ...

Removing his hand, he hooked his thumbs in her panties, and slid them down her thighs, Beth lifting her hips to assist him. The last of her barrier's gone now, she lay gloriously naked before him, unabashed under the heat of his appreciative gaze.

"You're beautiful," the words tumbled from his lips, as Daryl shoved his jeans the rest of the way down his legs, kicking them off and to the floor, his boxers chasing them. His cock sprung forward achingly, as he grasped its swollen length and slid his hand from base to tip. He didn't share her confidence, but his desire overrode his fear, as he settled between her legs again, and she bent her knees to cradle him.

Knowing she was already wet and ready nearly drove him to the brink of madness. "I fucking want you," Daryl groaned against her lips as he kissed Beth again, his cock pressing urgently into the softness of her belly, as he made his plea, the words spilling into her open mouth, "I want to be inside of you."

"Yes," Beth nodded, speaking the word because _she knew he needed to hear it_ -needed to know he had her permission.

Nodding his own confirmation Daryl took her lips one more time, sealing their pact with a clumsy kiss, as he braced himself up on his arms and nudged his dick at her opening, easing in slowly. So slowly - _achingly so_ ... the intense pleasure bordering on pain, as his eyes fell closed and his arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. _Fuck_ she was tight - _so tight._

Daryl paused, forcing himself to be steady and allowing her body to adjust and accommodate him. His eyes fluttered open to find Beth watching him, her mouth forming a silent "oh" and her pupils blown wide in the midst of her desire.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice cracking with the strain of keeping himself in check -terrified of fucking up in anyway, of disappointing her somehow.

"Yes, don't stop," her voice cracked too, as he eased back out and plunged into her fully, groaning as she cried out and her slick heat engulfed him, sucking him in straight to the base and sending a shudder tearing through him.

Passion fueling her forward, Beth's hands began to roam his body. They tangled in his hair, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the thick width of his biceps - exploring the contours of his muscles, soft sighs of pleasure pushing past her lips with every one of his strokes. He shivered as they smoothed down his sides -already wet with sweat, as they inched hesitantly towards his back.

Daryl knew she wanted to touch him _there_ -knew she _wouldn't_ without his consent.

Drawing from all the reserves of courage he had left, Daryl bent down and branded her with a searing kiss, whispering against her lips, "touch me" -wanting no walls between them - _not here._

Kissing him back fiercely, Beth began her intimate exploration, her touch light and exquisitely gentle, as she brushed her hands up the length of his back. Her fingertips traced the puckered flesh of each and every one of his scars -as if committing them to her memory, and Daryl realized that he wasn't completely uncomfortable with it -at least not to the extent he thought he'd be, finding her touch surprisingly soothing.

"You feel so good," her breath was hot in his ear, and Daryl sensed her words had a double meaning -but all coherent thought fled as her lips found his throat and she flicked her tongue against the saltiness of his skin.

Daryl's thrusts became frenzied, as Beth wielded her new weapon against him, grazing her teeth against the hollow of his throat and nipping at the sensitive flesh there. With an inhuman growl, he lowered himself down to press a kiss against her forehead, then grasped her waist and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him.

Beth gasped, bracing her hands on his stomach as she slowly slid down the length of him, her head lolling as he penetrated her even deeper from this angle. His hands on her ass, Daryl marveled how it fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, as he rocked her hips forward, then pulled them back, showing her how to ride him.

Beth was a fast learner, becoming more confident as Daryl placed all the power in her hands. Twisting her hips in a circular motion, she ground down on him, then jerked upwards, picking up speed as she found her own comfortable rhythm. The sweat beading on her body, glimmered in the flickering candle light, making her look like some sort of primitive goddess, as she rode him in a frenzy fit to rival his own ardor. _Damn, she was so fucking beautiful._ And right now -right in _this_ moment, _she was his._

His hands gliding across the smooth expanse of her belly, he cupped her breasts, gently squeezing her nipples and loving the little grunts and gasps that rumbled up from deep within her and cascaded from her parted lips. With an urgency that shocked him, he reached up and pushed his fingers through her hair, tugging a little rougher than necessary, and pulled her down for a kiss, swallowing the feral growl that worked its way up her throat as he felt her muscles squeezing around his cock, her orgasm starting to build.

Beth tensed up, her eyes flying open in confusion as she tore her lips from his, "Daryl?" She panted his name between guttural moans - "wha - what's-"

"Shhhh," he whispered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, he held her close as her nails bit into his shoulders and she cocooned him with her legs. Daryl met her push for pull, thrusting up harder inside of her, and fighting to hold himself back -needing her to find her release first.

"Just let it happen, sweetheart. Come for me," Daryl breathed his encouragement in her ear, as her body shook against him.

She shut her eyes, then opened them -her pupils blowing wide as her head fell backwards and she cried her release to the rafters, her muscles clenching his cock as they contracted around him. And _finally_ , Daryl let go too, his breathing ragged, as he reached down between their bodies and withdrew from her, spilling his seed. Hot and sticky it spurted between them, slicking his hand and her thighs and belly.

Her head falling limply onto his shoulder, Beth kissed the side of his throat, as Daryl fell back onto the pillows, his chest heaving as he pulled her with him, and tucked her into the crook of his arm.

 _And from your lips she drew the hallelujah ..._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 - Your Metaphors, Your Silent Calls, Your Feelings Are Too Real**

Hold me up in the palm of your hand,

Lying to you is a river of sin.

 _Your metaphors, your silent calls,_

 _Your feelings are too real._

Let them spew, a fall from grace

Would do us good today...

"Hold Me Up"- Live

* * *

Daryl awoke in a warm cocoon of soft supple flesh, the scent of strawberries tickling his nostrils and teasing him into consciousness. Beth was woven around him, still deep in slumber, her breath hitting the sensitive skin of his throat in slow, even puffs, the comforting heat of her body inviting him to stay, even as it threatened to reignite every nerve ending he possessed and get them in trouble all over again.

Daryl brushed his thumb lightly against the smooth skin of Beth's hand, tracing her knuckles as his heart beat a slow steady rhythm under her palm. They'd fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs before the sun had even set yesterday - _not like they'd have noticed_ , since the farm had been shrouded in a steady shade of gray since they'd arrived -but the gray was absent now. Instead, an orangish tint danced in the backdrop of the inky night sky just beyond the bay windows -the earth trapped in the eerie space of twilight that occurred just before the dawn broke. The rain had stopped -perhaps the absence of its patter is what woke him to begin with.

The rain had _stopped_ -the realization hit him harder than he'd expected.

If the rain had stopped, that could mean only one thing ... _it was time to go home_. Time to leave this little bubble of alternate reality they had encased themselves in. He'd known that yesterday when he'd finally broke and gave himself over to all the strange new feelings Beth evoked from him -knew that this would be a _one time_ thing -c _ould only be a one time thing_ -so why then did it feel like such a crushing weight on his chest right now?

Daryl sighed, closing his hand around Beth's, his lashes sweeping his cheeks, as he tried to make sense of the unexpected creeping sense of breathlessness suddenly engulfing him. It was suffocating ... and with a sudden desperation, Daryl felt the need to escape it, to flee from the tightening in his chest.

Gently plucking Beth's hand from over his heart, he brushed his lips against her fingertips as he untangled his limbs from hers, and slipped from the bed. The sticky humid heat of Georgia hung heavy in the air, immediately clinging to his skin, but Daryl felt a coldness like no other seep straight to his bones, and it only felt worse with each step he took away from the bed ... _away from Beth_.

His eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Daryl shook his head vigorously, trying to shake some sense into his thoughts, as he quietly padded about the room until he found what he'd been searching for, and slid his arms into his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. His protective armor back in place, he breathed another sigh - _this one of relief,_ then began the hunt anew for his boxer shorts. Maybe if he wasn't feeling so naked and vulnerable, he could actually think straight. _Maybe_.

He found them at the bottom of the bed, tangled in the legs of those damned detestable jeans he hated so much. Shaking his underwear free, he left the jeans where they lay, as he stepped into his boxers, wondering what Beth had done with his _actual_ pants -not entirely surprised to find that having a protective layer of clothing did _very little_ to squelch the knot forming in his chest.

He needed some air. He needed a cigarette. For the briefest of moments, he entertained the thought of making a run for his bike to retrieve them from the saddlebags, but he shoved it off, unwilling to put those damn jeans back on. Instead, he bent and opened a window, stuffing himself into his usual spot, and chewed his thumb while listening to the water drip from the leaves of the tree whose branches hung close to the house, and wondered how many times the Greene sisters had shimmied up and down its trunk, escaping curfew.

Beth stirred in her sleep, and Daryl's eyes were immediately drawn to her, watching as she snuggled deeper into the empty space he'd left on the bed, and fought the urge to crawl back and insinuate himself into her embrace. It would be so easy. Just like letting go yesterday had been so easy -too damn easy. _It wasn't easy now, though_ -nor was the realization that nothing where Beth was concerned would ever be again.

 _But it would have to be_. It was the _only_ way forward.

Daryl supposed this was the part where he _should_ be regretful. He wasn't though. He couldn't find it in himself to taint what they had shared, but he had no such illusions that what he'd done had been _okay_. Beth would do her damnedest to convince him otherwise -she'd plead to his sensibilities and tell him she was an adult, and everyone would eventually come around ...and deep down, he'd want to believe her. But it was what it was. He _wasn't_ Glenn. And Beth certainly _wasn't_ Maggie.

He wished he was ... Not Glenn, but maybe someone _like_ him. The type of guy that Hershel Greene would approve of. The type of guy he'd give his blessing to wholeheartedly. One of the truly good guys ...the type of guy who hung around to rescue some dumbass stranger in a tank -because it was the _right_ thing to do. Daryl was _not_ that guy.

Sure, he'd searched for Sophia for days, and wanted more than anything to find that little girl alive and reunite her with her mother. But he'd only be lying to himself to say that his reasons for doing so weren't partially selfish. _He was that lost little girl_ -and a part of him selfishly hoped that in finding her, maybe he could find some of himself -the part he'd lost growing up surrounded by so much ugliness.

She was his second chance -to right the wrongs of the past ...to give the poor kid the shot he never had. But instead, she ended up being just _another_ of his failures to stack on the pile. _Another_ layer of scar tissue on his back ...

 _No._ It wasn't even remotely the same. _He was who he was_. Nothing could change that -not even a little well placed faith.

Daryl let his head fall against the window and inhaled the scent of rain and nature, and the lingering decay that always tainted the air. Would that ever subside? He itched to get outside, stretch his legs and kill something -and they _needed_ food. Passing out yesterday had reserved them one last meal, but they'd have to wait this out a bit longer -make sure the storm had truly passed and give the water some time to run-off. There was most certainly flooding, and he'd never risk wiping out on the bike -not with Beth on the back of it.

As if she had some telepathic connection to him and knew she was on his mind, Beth let out a muffled whimper and sat up in the bed, looking around briefly before her eyes adjusted and found his silhouette in the window. She said nothing as she rose on sleepy, unsteady legs and tugged the sheet up, wrapping it around her naked frame like a Greek goddess, as she limped around the mess they'd made last night, and made her way towards him.

Daryl swallowed convulsively -and even as his brain struggled to process how to react, his body had already made the decision for him, his arms opening to receive her as she insinuated herself between his legs, sighing as she pillowed her head on his shoulder. His arms folding around her, Daryl rested his chin on the crown of her head and silently cursed himself for being so fucking weak, even as he relished in the feeling of holding her again. _Just this once more before the dawn came ..._

"The rain stopped," her voice had that husky quality, as she trapped an escaping yawn in the folds of the sheet, and borrowed deeper into his embrace, like she was trying to carve herself a place inside of his chest.

Daryl didn't answer her -the flimsy sheet and her innocent wriggling did _nothing_ to mask the soft swell of her naked ass pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers, as he fought a losing battle to control his unruly body. _But_ , it wasn't really a question anyway -she knew as well as he, that it was time to go home.

"Thank you," her voice was small, the barest of whispers on the warm breeze pooling through the open window, and for a moment, Daryl wondered if he'd just imagined it.

"For what?"

"For bringing me here. For helping me do this. I knew you were the only one I could trust."

"Probably wouldn't have if I knew it was for a dumb baby blanket," he snorted, burying his smile in her hair.

"Liar," Beth elbowed him playfully in the ribs.

Daryl's smile deepened as his arms tightened around her. He _was_ a liar -he couldn't say no to her, and she damn well knew it, too. If he wasn't so wrapped up in the scent and softness of her body, he might have the good sense to realize how fucking dangerous that was for him. But as the golden rays of the sun split through the remnants of the night sky, reaching straight for the heavens, Daryl didn't give a shit about anything but the serenity of this perfect moment, and the woman in his arms.

* * *

"Do you think you'll catch anything?" Beth asked, as she continued to pick apart her biscuit until it was nothing but a mound of crumbs on her plate.

Daryl quirked an amused brow, fighting the urge not to laugh at her more than sour disposition at the breakfast table. "Feeling a bit hungover this morning, Greene?" He asked, as his hand curled around their shared water bottle and placed it in front of her.

"Don't even say it, _Dixon_ ," she growled her warning -like an angry kitten with its hackles up and it's tail swishing wildly.

"Told you to drink more water," Daryl shrugged, doing a shitty job of hiding his smile. Stifling an outright laugh, he reached to snag one of her untouched pieces of beef jerky and popped it in his mouth.

"Why aren't you sick?" Beth shoved her plate away, crossing her arms over her chest and tried to look cross.

"Maybe because I drank plenty of water," Daryl shrugged again, unable to resist goading her further - _damn_ , but she was so cute though, sitting there trying to look mean as hell while she gave him the stink eye.

Pursing her lips, her eyes narrowing, Beth reached for the water bottle, twisting the top off and threw it back, nearly draining its contents before Daryl could stop her. "Beth, wait -"

"Happy?" She panted, dragging her hand across her mouth, her face twisting into a look of horror as she stood quick enough to topple her chair over. Her hands clamping over her mouth, she limped for the sink, barely making it before her stomach forcibly emptied its contents.

"Shit," Daryl shoved himself away from the table and was by her side in an instant. "S'okay sweetheart," he crooned softly, reaching to hold her hair back from her face, the other rubbing small, soothing circles between her shoulder blades as again and again her tiny body heaved with violent force -making him feel like shit for teasing her.

"I-I'm sorry," She panted when the heaving that wracked her body finally subsided.

"The hell you apologizing for, Greene?" Daryl flicked the tap on, turning her to face him, he ran his fingers under the cool water and pressed them gently to her face, grimacing momentarily at the bile and vomit clinging to several strands of her hair. "Ain't no official rite of passage unless you puke afterwards," he smiled down at her, remembering all the times he'd worshiped the porcelain god after a long night of excessive partying and boozing it up with Merle. Lucky for Beth, he wasn't Merle, and didn't plan on leaving her to her own devices while he cracked mean jokes at her expense.

She managed a small smile in return, as her hand curled around his arm. "It's in my hair, isn't it?"

Daryl nodded. "Yep."

"it stinks, don't it?"

Daryl nodded again, the corner of his mouth pulling into half a grin. "Yep."

The pallor in her cheeks instantly flamed red. "I better go get cleaned up," she sighed, eagerly pushing past him, a bit unsteady on her feet.

Daryl didn't relinquish his hold, instead, tugging her back, he swung her up in his arms, delighting in her little squeal of surprise, and carried her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "Don't puke on me Greene," he warned her, as he navigated the narrow hallway, nudging the bathroom door open with the toe of his boot.

Beth reached to flick the light switch on, as Daryl shimmied sideways into the bathroom and placed her gently on the toilet seat. Unlike him, she hadn't put her boots on yet, and Daryl took a knee before her -bending easily now that he had his _own_ pants back- and unraveled the bandaging around her ankle.

"You don't have to do this," Beth smiled weakly down at him, a slight pink in her cheeks. Gone was the desire induced nymph that had rode him in a frenzy until they'd collapsed spent in a pile of sweat soaked limbs -and returned was the shy and timid simple country girl again. So many facets of Beth Greene, and every damn one intrigued and beguiled him.

"I know," Daryl nodded, reaching into the old porcelain tub to turn on and adjust the water to a comfortable temperature. "But I'm gonna anyway. I owe ya one Greene, then we'll be square." After plugging the drain, he rose to his full height, shaking the water from his hands.

"A bath?" Beth asked, one delicate brow arching upwards at him.

"Well, I can't hold you up in the shower," Daryl shrugged, "so yeah, a bath."

"From chaperone to nurse," suddenly not as embarrassed -or maybe she never really was to begin with, Beth reached for the hem of her tank top, her voice dropping to that husky tone that did forbidden and delicious things to his insides. "Are you gonna spoon feed me jello too, Doctor Dixon?"

"You really wanna poke fun at me when I'm the one taking care of you?" Daryl tossed back, reaching to stay her hands -he had regained some of his self control, but he was _no_ saint. Sick or not, he could _still_ feel his body responding to her nearness, and he wanted her - _even_ with chunks of vomit in her hair. "Where are your clean clothes?" He asked, in an attempt to distract them _both_.

"Take your pick from my drawers," Beth answered with a shrug of her own, her face twisting in discomfort as she clutched at her upset stomach.

"You gonna be sick again?" Daryl asked, all playfulness aside, concern etched on his face.

Beth shook her head vigorously. "No, I don't think so. I don't think there's anything left in my stomach."

"You good then?" He flicked his head towards the tub steadily filling with warm water. He'd give her some privacy while he gathered her some clothing.

With her nod of confirmation, Daryl ducked out of the bathroom and hightailed it down the hall to her bedroom. Beth had cleaned up their little hair cutting station this morning, and the bedroom looked the same as it had when they'd first arrived -the bed made tidy again, with no glaringly obvious indications of what had transpired within it yesterday.

Tugging open random drawers, Daryl pulled out another tank top and a pair of cut-off jean shorts - _and not at all because he liked the way they hugged her ass_. No -it was _strictly_ for dressing ease because of her ankle. _That_ was his story and _he was sticking to it_. Yanking open another drawer, and then another, he continued his search, ignoring the way his ears burned as he took his pick from her underwear drawer -settling on a soft blue pair he thought she might be comfortable in.

His task complete, Daryl headed back to the bathroom, realizing with each step he took, that the tub water was still running. "Beth, ya decent?" He called around the doorway, not wanting to barge in on her if she was still undressing, and realizing how stupid he must of sounded after the fact. _Of course she wasn't decent_ -she was naked, or getting naked.

Her answering reply came in the sound of retching -just barely loud enough to carry over the running water. Forgetting decency and his attempt at being gentlemanly about her state of undress, Daryl tore around the door-frame, dropping her clean clothes to the floor as he crouched beside her, pulling her hair back from her face again, as she hugged the toilet bowl.

"Thought you said you was good, Greene?" He asked, as she pushed away from the toilet and slumped against the tub.

"Like I have the psychic ability to predict when I'm gonna hurl," she snapped back, swiping her hand across her mouth. "Why is the room spinning?"

Daryl grabbed the mouthwash from the bathroom sink and handed her the bottle, then reached over her head to turn the water off before the tub ran over and they had a whole slew of other problems to deal with.

"I think I'm dying," Beth groaned dramatically, as she took a swig from the bottle and swished it around in her mouth, then spit it in the toilet.

"Nah, just a little dehydrated," Daryl shook his head, dragging himself up to his feet, and slapping the toilet seat down, he flushed it and then reached to tug Beth up from the floor. "We'll get ya cleaned up, tuck ya in bed, get some water and a little food in ya to suck up that alcohol sloshing around in there, and you'll be right as rain."

Beth groaned again, "No water."

Daryl tried not to laugh at her pitiful antics, drawing from all the reserves of his patience and remembering that he was a less than cheery patient when the tables were turned. "You only puked because you chugged it," he informed her, as he smoothed the hair back from her face. "Gotta take small sips, Beth."

"If you say so, Doctor Dixon." She tilted her head back to look up at him and swayed on her feet. "Not like I'm _ever_ gonna drink again ..."

Daryl steadied her, coming to the realization that he was going to have to help her _-touch her-_ whether he liked it or not. And the problem was - _he liked it_. Releasing a heavy sigh to steady himself as well, he reached for the hem of her tank top and gently drew it up over her head, forcing himself not to be affected by Beth's sharp intake of breath or the way her stomach muscles quivered under the brush of his touch. He was helping her -there was _nothing_ sexual about this.

One arm weaving around her slim waist, Daryl continued to provide her balance, as his free hand reached for the button-fly of her jean shorts, and flicked it open. "Hold onto me," he instructed, placing her hands on the width of his shoulders, as he took a knee once more, his clumsy fingers working her zipper down.

Beth clung to his shoulders, leaning heavily against him as he gripped the waistband of her shorts, and slid them down the curves of her hips, her panties following suit. He didn't linger long, standing back up with such a quickness, he damn near almost knocked Beth backwards into the bathtub.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as she cried out, her flailing arms reaching for him, as he pulled her back into the circle of his arms and lifted her against his chest, then carefully lowered her into the tub.

The warm water lapped at her skin, the heat giving it a rosy hue, as Beth sighed softly, her arms still woven around his neck, as she settled into the bath. Gently shrugging free from her grip, Daryl reminded himself to breathe, as he reached for the soap with shaky hands, and with a tenderness he didn't even know he possessed, drew it across Beth's skin with exquisite care.

Down her back and along her shoulders, the graceful curve of her neck, and the sharp angles of her collarbone. The suds painting her smooth flesh -Beth was the canvas and he, the awed artist, as Daryl moved to the soft swells of her breasts, his hand dipping below the water and down the gentle slope of her stomach, across the hollow of her belly button, and over the sharp jut of each of her hip bones. He traveled down the length of one leg, then back up the other, the soap tracing a path up her inner thigh before burying in the soft nest of wet curls between her legs.

His touch never lingered, and although he knew he'd be a goddamn liar if he said he didn't enjoy every second he guided the soap across her slick wet skin, marveling at her simplistic beauty - _nothing_ about this was sexual, _and yet_ , it was _deeply_ intimate, just the same. _Don't you think that's beautiful?_ Beth's words from the attic rung in his ears with the thrum of his thudding pulse, as Daryl set the soap down and reached for the shampoo bottle on the ledge.

The task of her hair was a bit more tricky -as he worked the elastic band free, trying not to pull her hair and sure he was unsuccessful in that goal, as Beth winced just before her golden waves tumbled down around her naked shoulders. Daryl cracked an apologetic half smile as she dipped below the water, submerging herself, then drew her knees up to pillow her head on, while he worked a good lather into her tresses.

Beth leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering shut again, another sigh pushing past her lips as Daryl continued his ministrations, his fingertips gently kneading her scalp until he was satisfied that he'd gotten all the vomit out. He glanced around for something to rinse her hair with, realizing with relief that the shower head was removable, and pulled the plug in the tub before reaching to tug it down, and rinsed the suds free from her hair.

"You've done this before, Doctor Dixon," Beth mumbled. Her tone was light and teasing, but it triggered long buried memories that he'd of sooner left forgotten.

He _had_ done this before -with Merle, when they found their mother passed out on the bathroom floor in pile of her own vomit. Merle told him he didn't have to, but Daryl had stayed to help, making sure both their mother and the bathroom was cleaned up before their father moseyed in from his most recent bender. In the end, it hadn't made a lick a difference, as Merle had taken a severe ass whoopin' anyway -the old man raving about him being a dirty pervert, like it would have been any better to just leave their mother in the state they'd found her in ...

Standing to quickly retrieve a towel from the shelf behind the bathroom door, Daryl bent and wrapped Beth in its plush softness before lifting her up from the tub and setting her on her feet before him. With quick, deliberate strokes, he brushed the towel across her skin -over her breasts and down the flat planes of her tummy, crouching down to dry her feet and legs -perhaps a little more roughly than necessary, as he did his best to shake the unpleasant memory.

"Hey," he vaguely heard Beth's voice penetrating through the haze of his disgruntled thoughts, as he continued toweling her dry. Her hands came down to cup his face, forcing his gaze to hers, "I didn't mean it like that Daryl," she said softly, her blue eyes pleading with him not to take offense.

 _It hit him then_ -like a switch flicking on in his addled brain- his reaction the night before when she'd tossed his own cruel insinuation back at him.

"Really," She nodded, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. _All_ of this."

Daryl's gaze faltered, his eyes catching sight of the red blotches he'd left on her delicate skin with his rough strokes, and his heart constricted painfully in his chest. _He'd done that_ , while trapped in the fucked up recesses of his tortured fucking head. Something akin to a whimper escaped past his lips, and Daryl couldn't stop himself, as his head fell forward, his face pressing against the soft swell of her abdomen, his hands resting on her hips, as he silently plead for her forgiveness.

Beth gave it without knowing, her hands pushing gently through his hair to the back of his head, cradling him against her. She shivered as his hot breath caressed her naked skin, and that finally shook Daryl from his self loathing. _This wasn't about him._ Resuming his gentle touch, he helped her to dress, then grabbing the bandaging from the corner of the sink, scooped Beth up in his arms again -despite her protests that she could walk, and carried her to the to the bedroom, laying her gently in the soft folds of her frilly floral comforter.

"I gotta go see if I can rustle us up some grub," Daryl said, as he re-wrapped her injured ankle. He hated to leave her -and especially like this, but they needed food, and he was already behind on their preparations to leave tomorrow. So far the sun was holding fast, and their departure looked inevitable -it would do him some good to have a little time to organize the jumbled thoughts ricocheting around in his head, anyway. _Especially after what had just transpired in the bathroom_. He'd tucked that away temporarily by necessity, but it was _far_ from forgotten.

Beth groaned at the mention of food, falling back onto the pillows behind her head, as Daryl finished and tucked in the ends. "You gotta eat. Like it or not."

"I should be going with you," she said, grabbing his hand, and threading her fingers through his, intent to waylay him as long as possible.

"Not this time, Greene." Daryl shook his head no, attempting to disengage his fingers from her suddenly iron-tight grip. "C'mon girl," he chastised her, even as the side of his mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. "The sooner I go, the sooner I can get back to ya, and I still gotta find you a bucket, or something, so you don't puke in our bed."

She smiled at that, finally releasing her grip. "Under the kitchen sink."

Daryl made a hasty exit, finding the bucket exactly where she said it was. Grimacing at the mess still in the kitchen sink, he quickly rinsed it down the drain, chasing it with some antibacterial cleanser shit he _also_ found under the kitchen sink. He washed his hands, then filled their water bottle, tucking it under his arm as he took the stairs two at a time.

Beth's eyes were closed, so he moved quietly, placing the bucket by the bedside, and laying the water bottle down on her nightstand -within reach. He was halfway to the door when her voice called him back. "Daryl ..."

Her blue eyes fluttered open to stare straight into his fucking soul. " _I ..._ ," she sighed. "Thank you."

Feeling like a weight had settled on his chest, and unsure as to _why_ , Daryl nodded somberly as he stepped out into the hall and trotted down the stairs. Grabbing his crossbow, he slid the deadbolt free and stepped out onto the porch, filling his lungs with fresh air, as he pulled the door closed securely behind him, and hopped off the porch and into the sun's warm rays.

It was muggy as fuck -the air thick with humidity, but Daryl didn't care, as he inhaled the smell of the damp earth beneath his booted feet. It was too early in the year for a hurricane, but he wasn't sure what the hell else the storm could have been. In a world where the dead walked, he supposed _anything_ was a possibility.

He made his way to the chicken coup, flinging open the door, and went straight for his saddlebags, grabbing for his cigarettes, and lighting one up immediately. Three days without indulging had the first drag going down a little rough, sending tears springing forth from his eyes as he choked on the smoke, but that certainly didn't stop him from taking his next puff. Or the one after that.

Tucking the pack in his vest pocket, Daryl squinted against the sun as he surveyed the land, deciding where to begin his hunt -wanting to be sure he kept the farmhouse in his line of vision at all times. That didn't leave him with many options, so he began meandering along the edge of the woods, waiting for some unfortunate squirrel to venture down looking for his own dinner -knowing that Beth wasn't particularly fond of squirrel, but really having no other valid options present.

He probably should have scoured the house for some twine, and he could have fashioned some snares, but it was too late for that, as he passed the burnt down skeletal remains of Dale's R.V. and what was left of the barn. More bad memories rearing up to assault him, he skirted past them quickly, glancing over his shoulder at the house, as he stepped into the woods, unable to travel farther down the fields due to the ponds that had formed from the storm.

As Daryl suspected, the forest was alive, brimming with action, as all the critters had likely hunkered down for the storm too, and like him, they were now eager to find food. Being sure not to venture in too deep, he finished off his cigarette, flicking it to the forest floor and grounding it out with the toe of his boot, keeping himself just within the tree line, as he raised his crossbow in anticipation for dinner to scurry down one of the many trees on his path back towards the house.

He kept his steps light, moving soundlessly ahead, and as sure as he was a dirty damn redneck, a fat, furry little fucker came scampering down one of tree trunks and met the force of his bolt. Letting out a little victory _whoop_ , Daryl pulled his bolt free, dropping the dead squirrel to the forest floor, he reached for his knife and trimmed it right there, not wanting to give the dead any reasons to venture up near the house.

With their food problem dealt with, at least for the night Daryl began heading back, knowing if the rain returned, they'd be thoroughly fucked. He could only hope that wouldn't be the case, as he easily took out the lone Walker that crossed his path as he stepped out of the cover of the woods. He didn't like leaving Beth alone -not that he didn't think she couldn't take care of herself, because he _knew_ she was _more than_ capable -but because she wasn't feeling well, and he felt an unrelenting need to care for her.

He'd told her he was doing it so that they'd be square, and _that_ was a lie. A pretty shitty one too -and if she'd been on her A-game and fully aware, she'd of seen right through his bullshit and called him on it, like she usually did. And perhaps that's what had Daryl worried more than anything -more even than _finally_ giving in to his sexual urges and the undeniable attraction he had to Beth ... _he couldn't hide from her anymore._

And _that_ was dangerous.

If the bathroom incident earlier made anything more clear to Daryl -it was that his mind was just as fucked as ever, and even someone like Beth - _sweet, Beth and all her fucking wonderful goodness_ ...was _never_ going to change that.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay guys. My editor went on vacation, and then he was swamped when he finally returned home, and couldn't get to my story immediately. So while I waited, I tweaked and added things, and took some things away -and I'm actually glad that I had the extra time, otherwise the bath scene never would have happened, and I might have taken this chapter in a totally different direction. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! See you next update! ;)**


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